California Rehabilitation Center
by sterek-g
Summary: Stiles inadvertently gets into some trouble with coping with the anniversary of his mother's death and his birthday, which gets him sent to the counsellor's office. What he doesn't know is that she's going to suggest he get's a small, part-time job to relieve some stress, where he gets to meet Derek in a most unusual way. RATED MA.
1. Bullies

Stiles had never truly gotten over the death of his mother. Ever. Especially since it had happened so close to his birthday, he felt like it had something to do with him. He had always known that was a ridiculous notion, yet the small nagging voice at the back of his head seemed to think otherwise. It had now been a year and a few days since it had happened, and Stiles' eighteenth birthday was rapidly approaching. Usually, after such a long time, people tend to get some closure about such events.

Stiles, on the other hand, got worse. He had gotten to a point halfway through the past year when he couldn't do anything without noticing that his mother was simply not there, and remembering that she would never be. Without having his guts churn when the echo of her voice sounded in his head, more like a stranger's each time. Without slipping into the occasional panic attack.

Yet another anniversary of her death had gone by, and his birthday was rapidly approaching, in about a month and a half. He always felt like he was going numb on the inside during this period between the two biggest events of his life, like those seven weeks were almost a limbo where nothing mattered and acting was pointless. Simply a struggle to remain alive was exhausting.

"Stiles!" his father was calling out on a Monday morning. "You're gonna be late again!"

Stiles slipped on his sneakers and punched the dangling laces into his shoes using his thumbs, not really bothering to tie them up, or to fully open his eyes for that matter. He dragged his feet to the door after he begrudgingly got up from the bed, and stopped for a second to swoop down and pick up his bag. As he held it in his hand he stared at it and thought it looked pathetically empty. That gave incentive to his subconscious to tell him to maybe skip school today, stay in bed and get depressed. Maybe if he got sad enough, he would just loop back around to being happy. Then again, he couldn't let his dad be the sheriff with the delinquent son. Their relationship was bad enough lately, with Stiles' crappy mood and complete lack of interest in being friendly or having human contact in general. Even through his apathy, Stiles didn't want to risk his father's job another time. So he just forced himself to walk through the bedroom door and face the world yet another time.

"Well, finally," the Sheriff said. Stiles glanced down the stairs and saw his dad speedily move around the living room, locating his keys, wallet, watch and any other little thing that found its way to a separate corner of the room, managing to make getting to the station on time a true challenge.

"Okay, so, I think that's it," he said as he patted himself to make sure he had everything he needed. He looked up at the landing where his son still stood.

"Have a good week," he said, and opened the front door.

"Dad?" Stiles called. His father stopped dead in his tracks and turned around. He saw Stiles holding up his badge with his eyebrows raised, which he had left on the small table underneath the mirror, both of which decorated the landing. He tossed the badge to his father, who caught it and nodded appreciatively, closing the door behind him.

Stiles hovered down the stairs and into the kitchen, where he realized he really had no energy in him to actually sit down and make himself some decent breakfast. He had stayed up late the night before. Haunting thoughts of your dead family will do that to you. Tossing a couple of slices of bread in the toaster, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked for any messages. Surprisingly, there was one. It was from Scott, and he was asking if Stiles had arrived at school. He replied with a quick 'On my way', and sent it as soon as the toast popped up. He grabbed the slices out of the toasted, grabbed his keys off the top of the kitchen counter and went outside. As he held the toast between his teeth, he got in his Jeep and started the engine.

Driving to school, or driving in general, relaxed him. It was like he was in control of the direction his life was taking, for once. Literally. The fact that he could just take a sharp right and find the interstate, and disappear over the horizon was always a wondrous image in his mind; leaving behind all of his demons, start fresh somewhere else. The only reason he didn't do that was his father. And Scott, probably, but mostly his father. He couldn't abandon him, it would kill him. He knew the Sheriff felt as much of a gut-wrenching pain over the loss of Mama Stilinski, but unlike Stiles, he succeeded in hiding it. He was glad that at least one of them was being strong, but he doubted his father could do it for much longer.

Soon enough, he made it to school just before the bell rang, and he walked quickly for the first time in days while making his way to his first class. Throughout the day he stared mindlessly at the teachers and the chalkboards, occasionally taking notes. He was called on at one point to answer a question, but he simply gave a random wrong answer, so the teacher would just move on to someone else who knew the correct one. At some points during the day, he felt like falling asleep with his face flat on his desk, just to get away from people. Maybe sleeping would get him that feeling he wanted to have, the feeling of being alone with your thoughts. When you could just go through three panic attacks in a row and nobody was there to judge you. Nobody was there to look at you like you were a freak. Somehow, being alone with himself was what Stiles longed for and despised at the same time.

Eventually, lunch came around, and he got to see Scott for the first time during the day. It was just his luck that they shared no classes on the first day of the week. He held his tray in front of him and scanned the room quickly until he found him, sitting next to Allison. Stiles had no idea how a guy like Scott had managed to get a girl like Allison, but he usually rationalized it as Scott being at the right place at the right time, the latter being the first few seconds she stepped in the school for the first time, and sticking by her side all day, practically marking her as his territory to all other teenagers who stared at her as she graced the hallways with her presence. For all Stiles cared, she was the one person who found Scott's exceptional goofiness and clumsiness endearing, and if that was enough for her, then so be it.

On the other hand, the other two sitting at the table with the lovebirds were Lydia and Jackson, two individuals that inspired very mixed emotions on Stiles' part. Firstly, Lydia had been the love of his life for years now. She was smart, beautiful, enchanting, quirky, and funny… The list was endless. Up until a few weeks ago, Stiles had wanted to grab her in his arms and take her somewhere far away from Jackson, where they could both live there happily in love. But he knew that was never to happen. Maybe that was why he suddenly felt such little passion when looking at her. Most probably it was due to the period between his mother's death's anniversary and birthday, when he felt numb inside, but he hoped that wasn't it. Because if it were, it would mean that the emotions he felt for her would come crashing back in a few weeks when he was over his birthday high, and for better or for worse, he had decided it was best to begin getting over her.

Jackson, secondly, he cared for minimally. The hot-headed jock didn't bother keeping it a secret that he hated each and every second he spent around Stiles and Scott, and that he did so only because he was practically Lydia's love toy, and she felt like hanging out with Allison, who, in turn, felt like hanging out with "the two losers." Ergo, Jackson spent time around them whether he liked it or not. Stiles doubted if either he or Lydia felt something for one another, or they just were together simply because they were both the most popular people in school, which left them with practically no other choice. That had to be it really, because there wasn't really that much to love in Jackson besides his looks.

"Hey, Stiles," Allison friendlily offered as he took his seat next to Scott, opposite Jackson and Lydia. Stiles wondered which was worse: even when he sat at the popular table, being the outcast, or having to go through lunch while watching Lydia cuddle with Jackson.

"Hi," Stiles simply replied. His downtrodden mood had been obvious to his friends, but nobody really wanted to mention anything, or say that they were worrying about him because they knew where it originated. And for any other person, it might have been an awkward but doable conversation, but for Stiles, it was just beyond unthinkable to bring something like that up.

"You know, it sucks that we don't have any classes together on Mondays this year," Scott remarked, just to fill the silence that had befallen as soon as the personified form of depression that was Stiles had arrived at the table.

"Yeah, I know what you mean."

The rest of lunch was spent with the four others making jokes and laughing with each other –although Jackson didn't partake majorly in the laughing and joking- while Stiles nibbled at his food quietly. They weren't exactly ignoring him, they were just running out of ways to try and start up a conversation with him since none of them seemed to be working.

Soon enough, time went by and Stiles finally sighed as he heard the final bell of the day ring. He shoved all of his books inside his back and was one of the last ones to exit the classroom. He had been close to the exit with his hand in his hand in his pocket fishing for his car keys when he saw Allison and Scott standing on the steps and hissing at each other.

"You need to talk to him! Stiles needs you right now!" she was saying.

"I know Stiles, he'll look for me when he's ready to talk," Scott replied with his eyes eternally giving a puppy dog look. Stiles remained there looking at them, but something compelled him to speak up.

"Talk about what?" he yelled over the crowd rushing to get out of the school. It seemed like it was enough to catch the attention of the couple, but Stiles already knew the answer. Unfortunately. Allison shifted nervously and patted Scott on the back.

"See you, guys," she mumbled and walked off, removing herself from the awkward situation. Scott smiled a fake smile at Stiles and sighed.

"So…" he said.

"Yeah?" Stiles replied. He really didn't feel like talking.

"Can I get a ride?" Scott asked.

"Scott, listen, I really don't think I need to talk about this," Stiles reassured his friend as they were driving to town to get some lunch. He realized that avoiding the conversation before it even started was the best option he had. Scott didn't seem too convinced though. Probably because Allison had persuaded him to get some words of emotion out of Stiles: leave it to Scott to be persuaded as easily as a five year old.

"Are you sure?" he asked, worriedly.

"Yes, I am," Stiles said, more firmly this time. He parked at a random place and pulled up the handbrake, just so he could get out of the car. Maybe that would get Scott to change the subject. There wasn't really much to eat around there though, except a McDonalds. Stiles didn't really frequent this place, only the drive-through.

"Why the hell are we here? There's nothing but McDonald's here, why aren't we going further into town?" Scott asked.

"Because I want to get McDonald's," Stiles said sharply. "Is that not okay?"

"Yeah, sure," Scott said, taken aback. "It's just that… Usually…" he trailed off.

Fifteen minutes later, they had both taken their seats at a table outside, ravaging their burgers. It was a good thing Scott was a sloppy eater; it didn't leave much room for talking. Stiles ate in silence too, and he looked around thoughtfully. At a table a little further away he saw a group of kids from his school. They were all big, tall and broad, and not in a good way, but in that way that they tried to impose themselves unto others, where they used their physical advantage as a means to scare others. Practically, they were a bunch of bullies. They looked at the table Scott and Stiles were sitting, and laughed and pointed.

Eventually, all four of them had gotten up and had started walking nearer.

"Crap," Stiles mumbled. "Just what I need."

"Hello, ladies," the one that appeared to be the leading member of the group said. Scott turned up from his food sharply, and tried to intimidate one of them off with a hard stare, something that wouldn't have succeeded even if his mouth weren't comically stuffed.

"So, what are you doing here, fag?" the bully went on, referring to Stiles, in a conversational tone. "Oh, no. Don't tell me we interrupted your date," he said mockingly.

Scott stood up while Stiles was trying to make himself as small as possible.

"Leave us alone," he demanded. The group of four simply laughed in his face.

"I said-" Scott began, furrowing his brow and taking a step further on, shoving his face in that of the leading bully's.

"Scott-" Stiles tried to interrupt, who was looking to get out of this with as little of a beating as possible.

"You sit your asses back down!" the big guy screamed and two of his lackeys pinned Scott and Stiles to their seats by the collars of their shirts. The one holding Stiles swung his fist and caught him on his cheekbone. Stiles' world spun around for a few seconds. Between seeing spots, faintly hearing Scott struggle to help him, and the four bullies laughing, Stiles had a hard time figuring out which was way was up.

The one holding Scott also lifted his fist, but the bigger one stopped him.

"No, don't hit him," he said, and leaned in front of Stiles. His face was dangerously close, and Stiles considered spitting, but the bruise already forming on his face was enough motivation to keep him from going through with that impulse. He could hear his heart pump and the blood pulse in his ears.

"Maybe now you'll know not to show your face around here, you fag," he spat. At that, they were off, and Stiles remained in his seat looking at the ground for a good five minutes. They had been out of sight in the first minute, but Stiles was still recovering emotionally.

"Stiles, are you okay?" Scott pleaded. He looked at Scott, and he realized he had tears in his eyes. The side of his face burned.

"Yeah," he said over the lump forming in his throat, and walked unsteadily to his car. He got in the driver's seat quietly, and Scott got in next to him. Before he dropped Scott off at his house, he had opened his mouth to say something, but decided against him. Stiles was glad.

He drove himself home, and was glad to see that his father was still not in. He dumped his bag in his room and went in the bathroom to look at his face. The bruise was already bright purple and it hurt to open his jaw all the way. He poked at the point of impact for a few seconds, and that was enough to jerk one of the tears out of his eye and let it trickle down his face. He dragged himself into bed, and passed out. This world was not where he needed to be this instant, even if it meant the one waiting for him in his sleep brought dreams of his mother with it; or rather nightmares.

When Stiles opened his eyes again it was about five o'clock. He checked his phone and saw that he had a text from Scott. It was really concerned, mainly asking him how he was. He was considering answering when somebody called him. He checked the screen, expecting it to be Scott, but it was Allison.

"Hello?" he answered.

"Stiles!" she exclaimed, sounding relieved. "Are you okay? Scott told me what happened."

"Of course…" he said to himself, and sat up rubbing his eyes.

"So?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, don't worry," Stiles lied.

"Didn't that guy punch you though? Michael or something?"

Stiles sighed. Allison might be in love with Scott, but she sure know how to manipulate him to get everything she wants out of him.

"He did, but I'm still fine. It's just a bruise," he tried to reassure her.

"Are you sure? You're not just lying so I won't worry, right?" she went on. Stiles had to admit, for what it was worth; it was nice to feel cared for. But he was still looking for a way out of this conversation.

"No, you can stop worrying."

"Okay then… Are you gonna try and get your dad to bust those guys?"

"What? Get the Sheriff to track down a bunch of teenage bullies who beat other teenage kids to feel good about their pathetic selves? You don't think he has bigger fish to fry with the random animal attacks?" he said incredulously.

"Okay, okay, I just suggested something! By the way, get back to Scott, please. Last I heard from him, he was worried than me."

"Shit. Well, okay. See you tomorrow," he said rubbing his eyes again.

"Yeah, see you. Bye."

He hung up and sighed. He was really feeling like being alone, but he had to call Scott and put him at ease. He got up off his bed and walked downstairs to get himself a drink of water from the kitchen. As he did so, he pulled up his contacts and dialed Scott.

"Hello? Stiles?" he answered nervously on the second ring.

"Hey, Scott."

"Stiles, what's up? Are you okay?"

"Yes, Scott, I'm perfectly fine, just like two hours ago when I dropped you off," Stiles whined impatiently.

"Two hours ago you'd gotten the shit punched out of you and you were practically crying during the entire ride home."

Stiles didn't have a response to this. He'd thought Scott hadn't said anything about that. Or would at least recognize that bringing something like that up would be sufficiently awkward to ruin a conversation.

"Yeah, well. You know what they say, it's just the shock…" he mumbled.

"So how are you?" Scott persisted.

"I'm fine, just a bruise is all."

"You know, your dad is gonna see it. What are you going to tell him?"

"I don't know, I hope he'll buy it if I tell him I just ran into a wall or a door or something. I don't want to worry him," Stiles confessed.

"Or you don't want him to think you're getting into fights with what's happening now…" Scott said. Apparently he was smarter than he looked. Stiles hated how the matter of his mother's death and Stiles' birthday was kind of hanging in the air, but not really talked about. Like the elephant in the room.

"Whatever, I'll just—I'll think of something," Stiles concluded forever trying to get some time alone and took another sip of water.

"Uh, I've got to go," Stiles said.

"Okay, I'll see you," Scott said friendlily. Just as Stiles was pulling the phone away from his ear to hang up, he heard Scott frantically calling his name.

"Yeah?"

"Err, Stiles… You, uh, you know you can call me if you want, right? To talk," Scott said, very, _very _awkwardly. Stiles took a second from feeling sorry for himself to appreciate what a good friend Scott was being. But only a second.

"I do. Thanks."

"Okay, well, bye again, I guess."

"Yeah, bye."

Stiles hung up the phone, and tossed it on the countertop. He took another sip of water and rubbed his face this time, forgetting that he had a throbbing bruise. He reacted silently by jerking away his hand. He would have put some ice on it but it wouldn't have much of a difference by this point. He turned around and looked at his reflection in the windowpane. This time of year there was nothing anyone could do to cheer him up. He just needed his time to grieve in his own special way, by sulking and keeping the time he spent with others to a minimum.

This time of year was always crap, and he wished there was someone to help him through it.


	2. Counseling

Thankfully, his father hadn't seen the bruise on his cheek. Only letting one side of his face show at any given time proved to be more than an adequate challenge, but Stiles managed nevertheless. Pretending he wasn't feeling to well to skip diner and stay in his room all afternoon helped as well.

Tuesday at school was just as much of a drag as Monday apparently, only with the added effect of worrying about people seeing his face and whispering about him behind his back. He looked like hell, and he knew it.

Walking through the hallways while keeping his head held high became an admirable feat. He knew that everyone stared, and the air felt particularly chilly against his bruised cheek. When he got to his locker, he opened it and slightly leaned into it while he was getting his books, hoping to either hide his face until everyone left, or fall inside the locker and disappear off to someplace where this kind of anxiety didn't exist.

"Stiles?" a concerned voice called. He turned around to see none other than Lydia.

"Lydia," Stiles simply stated, surprised in Lydia's evident worry.

"I, uh… I was just trying to ask you something," she explained with a frown. He hadn't ever seen her having a difficulty to get words out.

"Okay," Stiles said.

"How are you? With your face, I mean. I heard what happened," she murmured, barely audible over the noise of the people rushing about, which was starting to disappear as they found their classes.

"Oh, I'm fine, I guess," he said and absentmindedly raised a hand halfway to his bruise, too preoccupied with thinking about Lydia's honest concern about him.

"Okay. Well, I'm glad."

"I'm glad too," he replied too quickly. It was officially awkward. He almost smiled.

"Bye, then," she said abruptly and walked away. If there was anything weirder than the conversation was the way Lydia half-ran away from it. Either way, Stiles decided to ignore it and just be glad that the students had thinned out considerably in the hall. He found the books he needed and paced quickly onwards. He looked at his watch.

Shit.

He was late. Now he was going to walk into class last, and everyone would turn to look at him.

Shit.

That would be enough to get them to start whispering about him and pointing fingers.

Sh—

Stiles took a sharp turn and bumped into somebody, dropping both the books he'd been holding in his hands.

"Oh, sorry!" she said.

"It's fine, it's fine…" murmured Stiles as he got down to pick up his things. As soon as he had both books closed up and in hand once more, he stood up to face the counselor, Ms. Morrell.

Not really bothering to talk to her, he threw a noncommittal whisper of a "bye" and tried to walk away, but Morrell had grabbed Stiles by the arm. He raised his eyebrows and looked at her.

"Sorry, uh, I'm Ms. Morrell, the counselor," she said, quickly taking her hand off Stiles as she'd been gripping him a little too hard.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Stiles; and I'm also late," he said, hurrying to get to class for the first time in his life, probably. Not because he especially wanted to be there for any reason, but only because it gave him a reason to walk away from Morrell, who had been eyeing his cheek. But that didn't seem like it was going to go Stiles' way.

"Actually, why don't you forget about class for a little bit. Come with me, I'd like to talk to you," she said in a friendly tone. Stiles almost felt comfortable with her, but then he remembered that she was probably trying to lull him into a false sense of security so she could get something out of him. Or he was just being paranoid.

"Okay," he breathed and followed her. She led the way to her office, but she was quiet on the way there. Stiles thought she would have tried to make some sort of small talk to appear approachable, but no words came out of her mouth. It was probably just another weird psychological technique.

Damn, I'm really paranoid, Stiles thought.

They walked inside her office and Morrell offered a seat to Stiles. She waited for him to enter, and closed the door behind him. She then proceeded to take the seat at the desk.

"Okay," she sighed as she sat down, "so, you're probably wondering why I want to talk to you," she began. Stiles nodded, his brain was busy examining the room to form a response, as if he were looking for an easy escape route in case she started interrogating him for what happened with the side of his face. Then he remembered it was only natural for a counselor to be caring about the kid that looked like he was ten different kinds of beat up.

Okay, really paranoid, he thought.

"Well, let's start off with the basics then. I'm new here, and I'd like to get to know a few of the students, get the feel of the school. Do you know what I mean?"

Stiles nodded again.

"So, let's get to talking then," she said cheerfully. Stiles frowned.

"I'm sorry," she contradicted concernedly, "but you seem really uncomfortable. If you don't want to be here, you don't need to be. You were just the first person I happened across."

That was Stiles' ticket out of there. He could have just said that he had a test or something, and she would have let him go. Or even say that he really needed to get to his lesson, and he could have been out of there in seconds. But something inside him wanted to stay there.

Here was a woman who knew nothing about him, and wanted to know as much as time would allow. She wanted to listen to him, and to help him. Not in the way that everyone else offered a shoulder to cry on, like Stiles was a pathetic little weakling that couldn't handle this time of year, but in a way that made him feel like he was viewed as an equal. She hadn't picked him out of the pupils in the hallway because he was hurt, but because he was just another person, just like her. As if he stood just as tall and strong as anybody else. So, he stayed.

"No, I'm fine," he said. He didn't bother with the fake smile. Maybe because she might be able to see through it, or maybe because he didn't want to give a wrong impression.

"Are you sure?" she asked again, with raised eyebrows.

"Yeah," he nodded softly.

"Okay then, Stiles. Let's start with school. How are things here?" she said.

"Uh… Things are pretty good, I guess," he began, not really knowing what to say. "I'm doing pretty okay at my lessons, I've got some friends, and I used to be on the lacrosse team."

"'Pretty okay'?" she giggled. Stiles looked at her for a second, and gave a small laugh himself when he realized how silly that sounded; the first one in weeks.

"A's and B's, in general," he explained. She had a beautiful smile, and Stiles had only then noticed how pretty she was. Not in a romantic way, just in an appreciative way. Her sleek, long black hair cascaded off her shoulders and emphasized her large and equally dark eyes. She had full lips and her chocolate skin was smooth as velvet.

"That sounds… Pretty okay," she joked. "What year are you in now?" she asked.

"Junior," Stiles gladly answered. Her optimism had infected him. Maybe this was what he needed. Someone to talk to, but not about his mother. About everything else.

"And when were you on the lacrosse team?" she went on.

"The past two years," he said.

She didn't ask him why he quit. Maybe she knew there might have been a serious reason there, and wanted to keep things light to get him to feel comfortable about opening up. Whether or not she was doing it on purpose, she was succeeding. They went on and on about his school life until a half hour had gone by. At some points, the conversation was light and fun, sometimes it was serious. One thing was for sure: Stiles was finally having some fun.

They talked about Scott, about Allison. They talked about Scott and Allison together. Morrell even hinted she'd picked up on Stiles' emotions about Lydia from the way he talked about her. They only said a few things about Jackson. Danny was the next one, and then some people from the lacrosse team. Stiles' teachers… But not his home life, or family.

"What happened with your face, by the way?" she asked after they'd laughed and sat in silence for a few seconds, looking for a new subject.

"Oh, uh…" Stiles murmured as he thought about if he wanted to tell her.

"Don't be embarrassed, though. I'm a terrible klutz myself. You don't even want to know how many bones I've broken," she reassured him.

"Actually," he began guiltily, "it wasn't an accident."

"Oh," she exclaimed and raised her eyebrows. "Anything you want to tell me about that?"

"Yeah," Stiles immediately responded, and sat forward in his seat, surprising himself. He paused for a second before continuing.

"I ran into some people yesterday…" he explained inadequately.

"I'm taking a wild guess here but do you not particularly like those people?" she asked, lacing her voice with sarcasm. She was Stiles' kind of person.

"Not even a little bit," he chuckled darkly. "I didn't even do anything to them, I was just having lunch with Scott, and they came over and… Did this," he announced and pointed to his face.

She let the information linger in the air before she spoke again.

"You know, if they're from the school, and you want to—"

"I don't want to report them," Stiles cut her off. "It's really okay." She nodded understandingly.

"Alright, well, I had to say that anyway. Was it just a wrong-place-at-the-wrong-time deal, or have you had history with these people?" Morrell inquired.

"Bit of both actually, but I hadn't had any problems with them for a long time now. Usually when I'm eating with Scott I drive a little bit further into town, but I'd been a little bit too frustrated to remember that they hung out at that McDonald's…"

"Frustrated over what?" she pressed on, with a genuinely confused look on her face. He looked at her regretfully.

"I'd rather not say," he half-asked; trying not to destroy the mutually trustful bond they'd developed.

"That's completely fine, totally up to you," she reassured him as the bell rang. She gave a sigh like she wanted to keep him some more; talk longer, but she had already taken him away from a whole period. She knew she should let him go.

"Look, I'd like to talk some more, but you've already missed an entire class. I would normally advise you to find someone you can trust to open up to about anything that could be troubling you, or maybe even come see me another time, since I've been getting a feeling that something is bothering you. But I'm also getting a feeling that tells me you're not the type of guy to talk about his feelings, so instead, I'm going to suggest a different outlet," she announced.

Stiles looked at her with a puzzled look.

"I thought therapists weren't supposed to give away their secrets," Stiles questioned.

"No, that's magicians," she joked absentmindedly as she copied a number from her contact book onto a Post-It, making Stiles giggle. She handed him the piece of paper.

"Look, this is a number to an animal rehabilitation center, not too far from here. If you like animals, I think taking the time to provide some care for them, and getting your thoughts off things is going to be pretty healthy," she explained as Stiles looked at it suspiciously.

"Just try it, okay? It might prove to be better than you think. Ten bucks says you didn't think you were going to have fun when you walked through my door today," she toyed with him. He felt a slight pang of guilt when he realized his dislike for this meeting had shown, but he chuckled and appreciated her ability to set the students at ease with a single comment.

"Fine, but only because I love you," he joked back, drawing a wide grin from her.


	3. Anxiety

"Holly, you got a call!" somebody called from the reception. Holly turned to Stiles.

"Ah… I'm going to have to leave you alone for a few minutes," she unnecessarily explained.

"That's fine," Stiles smiled. Holly ran through the screen door and into the building. Stiles faintly heard her respond to her phone call, but her voice was soon drowned out.

Stiles started strolling lazily through the maze of cages and gazed at the birds chirping and flying and fluttering. Mostly there were hawks and owls, but there was much variety throughout. The loudness of their voices was torturous and blissful at the same time.

"Depends on how you see it!" Holly had exclaimed before.

As he went on, he marveled in their gracefulness while they seemingly effortlessly jumped from branch to branch of the small trees in the cages. They were taller than Stiles as they had to provide a comfortable environment for their inhabitants, which were there because they were either hurt or endangered.

Soon, the birdcages had run out, and now Stiles saw many mammals in front of him. For a second, he felt bad for these animals since they were hurt and caged up, but he kept reminding himself that they were also being urgently nursed back to health. For example, there were stray dogs with broken legs, foxes with bandages around different parts of their bodies, even a couple of coyotes that seemed to be well on their way to recovery. The mammals were normally quiet, unless one of the dogs decided that barking was the appropriate way to get something done.

"So, what do you think?" asked a cheerful voice suddenly. Stiles removed his hands from his pockets and spun around to see Holly.

"It's… Great," Stiles suggested with a polite smile. Holly frowned.

"Are you sure?" she said.

"Yeah, yeah!" Stiles exclaimed, trying to backtrack and fix any damage he'd done. "It's just… Overwhelming," he concluded after some thought, in his attempt to take as much of a noncommittal position about this as possible. Taking care of every single one of these animals was not going to be like working at a McDonald's drive-thru. He would be responsible for them, and Holly would expect him to show a decent amount of effort. With everything that was going on, Stiles wasn't sure he wanted to make such a commitment.

"You mean the noise?" she enquired and narrowed her eyes at him. Stiles sighed.

"Look, Mrs. Hodac, if I'm being honest, I really like it here. I'm good with animals, and your rehabilitation center is good. I can tell you're a professional, and you're doing this because you really care about them. But, I'm not sure if I want to work here without thinking about this for a little while," he said quietly, but loudly enough to be heard over the chirping. A smile dawned on Holly's face.

"Well, of course! I wouldn't be asking you to give me an answer right now!" She relaxed and put her hands into the pockets of her cargo shorts. She looked like she was about to go on an expedition through the rain forest, disregarding her short build.

"Okay," Stiles smiled and nodded. He looked at his watch and realized he'd been there for about half an hour. He'd driven there right after school that Wednesday. "I actually have to go now, but I'll give you a call tomorrow," he said as cheerfully as he could and flashed her business card to indicate that he had her number.

"Alright," she smiled and nodded. "Here, let me show you out."

Stiles followed Holly back to the back entrance of the building through the cages of birds, and out of the front door. He left her there and walked to his Jeep down the street. He got in and sat at the driver's seat for a few minutes before he actually started the engine, thinking about this potential job he could have by next week.

Morrell had been right in suggesting it, Stiles thought it felt good to not think about his problems for a while. A job like this gave him the opportunity to devote all his attention to the task at hand, and leave his tormenting emotions at the side. And, as a bonus, he got paid for it. It was a pretty good pay considering it was only a part-time job.

Then, Stiles had an idea.

He turned on the engine and started driving. He plugged one of his ear buds into his ear and connected them to his phone. He dialed a number and listened to the line ring.

"Hey," he heard Scott pick up.

"Scott, can I come over at your place?" Stiles asked.

"Uh, sure," Scott replied, sounding worried. "Did something happen?"

"No, no, don't worry," he reassured his friend, but he thought about it again. "Well, actually something did happen, but it's not something bad. I'll be there in, like, five minutes."

"Alright," Scott said and hung up, sounding understandably confused.

As Stiles navigated the streets to the McCall residence, he thought about his decision. Scott would understand Stiles' situation the best since he had a job as well, one where he was responsible for many animal lives. And on top of that, he was his best friend. He was bound to give him some good advice.

Soon, he pulled up outside the house and looked at it for a second before getting out of his car. It was like a second home to him, and Scott was like a brother. He hated that they had been slightly falling apart lately, and he hated himself even more because he knew that he was the reason. He just hoped that after his birthday had gone by, give or take a week, things would be falling back into place. What scared him was that this was the thought he had about most of the things that had been going wrong lately: maybe some of them would get better, but what if some didn't?

Stiles dismissed the thought as quickly as he had conjured it. He didn't want to get depressed again, because then he was either going to be feeling sorry for himself around Scott or he would be acting straight up distant, and that was just a fight waiting to happen. He got out of his car and walked quickly across the road. He would have knocked on the door, or maybe rang the doorbell had Scott not opened the door as soon as Stiles had set foot on the porch.

"How did you know I was here?" Stiles asked as he showed himself inside. Scott closed the door behind him.

"Are you kidding me? I can hear that Jeep from across the town," Scott scoffed.

"Hey, don't you talk like that about Jessie," Stiles joked, appearing offended. He was having a good day, and he didn't want to ruin it.

"Jessie?" Scott asked, with his eyebrows raised as high as they would go.

"What? It's something I'm trying out," Stiles said with his hands raised defensively. Scott squinted at him.

"Okay, well… Don't," he simply said and shook his head. Stiles giggled and took a seat at the sofa. Scott walked into the living room and sat next to him.

"Ugh, finally," he sighed as he sat down heavily.

"Finally what?" Stiles asked.

"Well, you know," Scott said and gestured to the air between them with a worried smile on his face. He already knew he was heading down a bumpy road.

"I really don't," Stiles confessed and stared on, confused.

"We're having fun again, we're joking around; you're better now," Scott said. Stiles simply narrowed his eyes. They remained in silence, staring at nothing, or at each other for a good minute. The level of awkwardness was incomprehensible. He knew what Scott was referring to, and he wanted to say something, but that would bring up the whole subject about his mother and his birthday, and that was ten times worse than biting his tongue back.

"I, uh, I wanted to talk about something," Stiles muttered, pretending not to notice Scott's comment.

"Yeah, tell me," Scott replied, eager to get the conversation going again.

"I've kind of been thinking about getting a job at the local animal rehabilitation center, but I'm not really sure if it's worth it, and you have the job at Deaton's, so I thought maybe you could help out here?" Stiles blurted without thinking. Scott looked confused, disappointed even, at the unexpected topic Stiles chose. He knew that Scott was probably hoping that they would be talking about his mother, and finally get that business sorted out with.

"Oh. Well, you like dogs," Scott declared. Stiles stared at him.

"Yeah, I already knew that. I was just thinking that maybe you could give me a few pieces of advice from your experience? Like, maybe you found it difficult working with sick animals and it's not for everybody?" Stiles suggested. It was his turn to raise his eyebrows.

"Yeah…" Scott whined, like that was completely irrelevant and a pointless argument. "But, this is really coming out of the blue, Stiles. Why do you even want a job? Is your dad making you get one, or something?"

"What? No, I just want to get a job, that's all. Plus, I wouldn't mind the money, isn't that why you work at Deaton's?" Stiles asked.

"I guess…" Scott muttered. "But, I mean, I also really like helping the animals. Why don't you go there for a single day, look at what the other employees are doing, and just see how you like it?" Stiles stared at Scott blankly.

"That's actually pretty good," he said, trying not to sound too impressed. "Why didn't I think of that?" Scott faked a laugh and tapped his temple with his finger.

"Thanks," Stiles said, and Scott nodded in reply.

"So, why do you want to get a job? Is it just 'cause you want some extra pocket money?" Scott asked. Stiles promptly opened his mouth to dish out another lie, but he decided against it. Maybe he really was getting better. Maybe his uplifted spirits weren't just a temporary thing. Maybe he was finding his old, happy self again, the one that didn't lie to his own best friend.

"Morrell thought it might be a good idea," he admitted hesitantly.

"Who's Morrell?" Scott asked.

"Ms. Morrell, she's the new school counselor."

"Why are you talking to the counselor?" Scott asked worriedly. "Is that why you weren't in class yesterday?" Stiles nodded.

"She saw my face," he explained and pointed, "and she thought we should have a talk. It was actually really fun, and she thought that getting a job like that would be a good way to get my mind off things."

"What things?" Scott pressed on. Stiles appreciated Scott's interest, but he was starting to wonder how many times he had to shoot Scott down until he realized that he didn't want to talk about it.

"Just things that I might have on my mind." Stiles noticed Scott playing nervously with his sleeve, and decided it was time to get out of there.

"Well, thanks for the help!" he said cheerfully, cutting the conversation in half and getting up quickly. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said and headed towards the door. He opened it and was about to take a step out when Scott started talking again.

"When the hell are you going to talk to me about you mom?" Scott yelled. Stiles stopped dead in his tracks and stared ahead of him, at his Jeep, like he'd been struck on the back of his head. He calmly closed the door and turned around to face Scott with a creepily blank expression.

"What?" he simply asked.

"Stiles, I know that you feel like shit all the time. I can tell. But I need you to actually talk about it. You have to at least let someone help you get over all of this! What do you plan on doing? Going through the same kind of crappy mood every time your birthday comes around for the rest of your life?"

Stiles looked at the floor, because he didn't want Scott to see his tears. He opened the door again and stormed out, slamming it behind him. He half-walked, half-ran to his Jeep, got it angrily, and slammed the keys into ignition. To his right side, there were lots of trees where the forest began. In the distance he thought he saw a pair of red glimmering beams of light, but he dismissed them as the tears in his eyes messing with his vision.

That night, alone in his bedroom, Stiles had a mild panic attack.


	4. Andrew

Stiles turned around in his bed and untangled his hand from the duvet in order to reach over to his bedside table and grab his phone. It was the fourth time Scott had left him a voicemail, and there had already been about ten text messages. He looked at the time while he scrolled through his messages. It was half past ten.

Stiles had faked being sick to stay home. After last night's panic attack and what would have been a fight with Scott had he not stormed out of the McCall house, school was not something he could deal with. It wasn't even the lack of sleep, or the homework. It was just having to face people and their judgment and their pity and their suspicious looks throughout the day.

He sat up in his bed and swung his legs over its side. He rested his elbows on his knees and rubbed his eyes passionately. After the torrent of thoughts, emotions and memories had cascaded into his mind, Stiles made a mental note to appreciate those few moments he had in the mornings when his head was completely void of anything screaming for attention.

He dragged his feet to the bathroom, phone in hand, and checked the latest message. It was a plead from Scott for Stiles to eventually respond or give a sign of life of some kind. Each message was more frantic than the last, and Stiles decided not to keep Scott waiting. After all, he'd done nothing except care for his friend. He sent back a simple 'Hi' and got to work on washing his face and brushing his teeth.

Stiles noticed that, all things considered, he wasn't really feeling all that depressed that morning. There was a new sensation enveloping him, something close to apathy. He wondered which was worse.

He had gotten started on his breakfast when Scott responded. He was asking Stiles how he was and if everything was okay. He pondered on that for a little while. Yesterday, he would have responded with a quick 'Everything's fine', just to get out of the hassle of having a serious conversation. But, today, he didn't really care about it. Might as well tell the truth.

'I'm okay, sorry I stormed out', he replied, not really daring to mention the panic attack. Nobody knew about that, not even his father. Stiles had learned how to keep quiet about them.

He quickly finished off his cereal and dumped his bowl in the sink before he went upstairs to get changed for nothing really. He walked into his room and noticed Holly's business card still on his bedside table, and now he knew what he was going to spend his morning doing. 'Why not?' he thought. Not in the cheerful, what-could-go-wrong way, but in a different manner. Something more along the lines of I-have-nothing-else-to-do-with-my-life. Because misery really does love company.

Without really worrying about the time, he slipped into a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, and stepped into his sneakers without tying them up. He grabbed his wallet, keys and phone and shoved them into his pockets. He walked downstairs and hopped into his Jeep.

A little while later, he was at the rehabilitation center. He found a good spot in the parking lot and sheepishly poked his head into the reception.

"Hello?" he called loudly.

"Ah, yes!" somebody yelled back frantically. There was a crash and a muffled curse before Holly appeared through the door behind the reception desk, holding up some pages and with her hair resembling a battlefield.

"Stiles!" she exclaimed as soon as she saw him. "How come you're not in school?"

"Uh, I was kind of under the weather before, but I'm better now," he explained. Holly seemed to be eager to believe that.

"So, are you okay now?" she asked concernedly.

"Yeah," he lied and smiled. "Actually I came here to ask you about that job we were talking about."

"Well, of course honey," she said and set the paper in her hands down on the desktop.

"See, I thought, it was one thing for you to describe it to me, and another for me to actually do it. So, if it's possible, I think it would be better for me to maybe spend the day with one of your employees, and see what the job is like?" Stiles said with a furrowed brow. He had started in a conversational tone, but ended with a hint of hesitation and regret as he saw Holly's face go from bright and happy to downright skeptical.

"Err… I guess that would be okay," she murmured.

"Are you sure? Because you sound kind of hesitant," Stiles went on. That seemed to be all the encouragement Holly needed to bounce back into her usual self.

"Nonsense!" she laughed. "It's just that there's only one other employee working this shift, and, if I'm being honest," she started whispering, "he's not the easiest person to make friends with. He's fantastic with animals, just not with people."

"I wouldn't worry about that, I'm not really having a talkative day myself," Stiles mumbled. That drew a weird look from Holly.

"You know, because I wasn't feeling well, I woke up on the wrong side of the bed," he lied again, and she nodded understandingly.

"Well, why don't you come with me," she suggested and she went out back through the screen door, with Stiles following her closely. He let it swing closed lazily behind him as he traced Holly's steps through the maze the cages formed.

"Andrew!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, making Stiles jump. Whenever he had to deal with such eccentric characters, he had found it was best to just keep quiet, and nod when spoken to. So he just went with it.

"Yeah?" somebody called back. Apparently, Andrew.

"Where are you?" By this point Stiles was on the verge of suggesting a more efficient way of communication, but held his tongue.

"By the foxes!" At this, Holly made a satisfied noise and started off, waving for Stiles to follow her, which he did. They eventually walked through the part of the jungle-like area that accommodated all the birds –and it really was jungle-like: the trees rose tall on all sides from the bushes that fenced the area filled with cages, and separated it from the forest as it was surrounded by forested area on all sides. The front side of the building faced the street and had large windows, overlooking the parking lot on the opposite side, but the back seemed like a totally different world.

After a good minute's walk, they arrived at the foxes.

"Andrew, darling, will you come here?" It seemed to Stiles that Holly was friendly with everyone, despite Andrew's rumored sour attitude. There was a man behind the cage in front of Stiles bent over; trying to grab a large sack of what he guessed was animal food. Andrew stood up and walked to Holly and Stiles.

"Yes, Mrs. Hodac," he said with a serious face and patted his clothes clean. The first thing Stiles noticed were his clothes. He shared the same outfit with Holly, looking like he was about to head off on a dangerous expedition. A brown shirt was tucked into a pair of brown cargo shorts, and to top it off, he wore ankle-high boots. Stiles realized he would soon be donning that as well, since it was a uniform, and not just Holly's choice of attire.

The other thing he noticed about Andrew was how goddamn good-looking he was. He was tall and lean, his defined calves sprinkled with light hair were on full display, and the veins on his biceps bulging from all the heavy lifting he'd been doing. His features rivaled those of a model's, and his dark brown hair was perfectly groomed, contrasting with his pale skin and blue eyes. And, Stiles would be lying if he'd said he hadn't checked out Andrew's butt while he was bent over. He might have been depressed, but he was still a horny teenager. Only for a few more weeks, though.

"Andrew, this right here is Stiles," she said and motioned to him with her hand, in case Andrew misinterpreted her implication, and thought she was referring to one of the animals. He looked Stiles up and down, and nodded at him.

"He might be picking up a part-time job here, but he needs somebody to show him the ropes. Would you be so kind so as to get him started on a few basic things?" she asked and patted Stiles on the shoulder. Andrew took in a sharp breath, possibly to sigh heavily in response to the mundane task assigned to him of practically babysitting Stiles, but decided against it.

"Sure," he replied curtly. Holly flashed a smile and ran off with a mutter of an "Excuse me," leaving the boys alone to awkwardly stand in silence.

"So," Andrew finally began. He jumped back behind the cage, grabbed the two heavy-looking sack in his hands and dragged them in front of Stiles, kicking up some dirt.

"Open this sack up, it's animal food. I'll show you how to feed the animals," he instructed Stiles, who was about to protest about being bossed around, but didn't feel like he had it in him. Deciding to just get on with it, he kneeled down and took the edge of the canvas sack in his hands and tried to find a way to open it.

"Uh… How—"

"It's upside down," provided Andrew.

"Of course," sighed Stiles, and flipped it over with a considerable amount of effort. He hoped each of the animals would need a lot of food, so he could get rid of the weight. He found a string and tugged on it, slowly unraveling the lining of the mouth of the sack. He opened it about halfway, and turned to Andrew.

"Okay, now?" he asked.

"Pick it up," Andrew ordered in the same monotonous, deep voice. Holly wasn't joking when she'd said Andrew was grumpy. Stiles eventually picked up the torturously heavy canvas bag, and while he held it in both arms, he barely managed to feed the animals that were to eat this kind of animal food. Some were too hurt for it, or too young, and needed a special type of nourishment.

"It says what they eat on their charts," Andrew explained, and Stiles noticed that each and every one of the cages had a chart hanging on its door. This process went on and on for what seemed to Stiles like days, but it had barely taken three quarters of an hour. Those forty-five minutes basically consisted of Andrew telling Stiles which bag to pick up, where to pour it, how much to pour, where to set it down, what bag to use for the next animal… All in all, Stiles really disliked being bossed around by this guy, and regretted his suggestion to Holly to spend the day with Andrew. It was actually Scott's idea...

Scott.

He hadn't thought of Scott all morning, he hadn't even checked his phone to see if Scott had replied to his text. When he found the chance, after Andrew announced he was going inside for a few minutes, Stiles pulled out his phone to see he had a text message from him.

'Stiles I didn't mean to say that I was frustrated im so sorry'

'its okay im fine scott,' Stiles replied. He wasn't okay, not really. But what was the point in telling Scott? Yeah, maybe he was his friend, and maybe he ought to know what Stiles was going through, but this was one of those times when people need to be left alone with their thoughts.

'r u sure? U wanna talk?' was Scott's immediate response. Being in class apparently didn't hinder his ability to text his best friend. Stiles gave a small, sad smile at that thought. Scott never meant bad, whatever he did. He was just a little… Clumsy; like a puppy dog. He was about to reply when Andrew jumped up behind him.

"Hey," he said. Stiles whipped around with a puzzled look plastered across his face. It seemed like confusion was his constant state of mind whenever he set foot in this place.

"Hi?" half-asked Stiles, not really sure how to react to the genuinely friendly smile Andrew was giving him, who had also started leaning against one of the posts of the cage next to him. The animal inside had stood up on its hind legs in an attempt to sniff Andrew's side pressing against the cage.

"So, how come you want to work here?" he casually asked. Stiles stared ahead.

"I'm sorry, but what's going on?" he asked.

"What?" Andrew said.

"Uh… Shouldn't we be doing something? Like, helping these animals, or something?" Stiles enquired.

"Well, yeah; when we get off our break," Andrew explained.

"Oh, okay." Apparently they were on their break.

"Well?" he went on, raising his eyebrows. Stiles had no idea what he was talking about.

"Well what?"

"Why do you want to work here?" Andrew chuckled. Stiles wasn't sure what to be shocked by first. The sudden change of heart, or Andrew's blinding headlight of a smile.

"I, uh…" Stiles racked his brain for a quick excuse, coming up with nothing interesting. "I needed some extra pocket money, and I like animals, so…"

Andrew nodded understandingly.

"Yeah, that's why I started too. But I kind of stayed for these guys," he said, and nodded to the cage he was leaning on. He proceeded to squint at Stiles and look him up and down.

"Shouldn't you be in school or something? You don't like you're old enough to have graduated."

"I haven't, actually," Stiles explained. "I just—I wasn't feeling well enough to go to class today, but I decided to come here instead."

"Huh," Andrew exclaimed thoughtfully. "Is everything alright now?"

"Yeah," Stiles lied.

"So, how old are you?" he went on and stood up straight.

"Well, I should be turning eighteen in a few weeks," Stiles muttered, not really wanting to bring that up unless absolutely necessary.

"You have a leaf, by the way," he suddenly proclaimed, to which Stiles simply furrowed his brow.

"Here," Andrew said, and took a step towards Stiles. He put his hand on top on his head and picked up the leaf that had been stuck to Stiles' buzz cut. Andrew, gracefully as ever, flicked it off.

"Thanks," Stiles said, quietly as ever, surprised at the sudden caring touch.

"No problem," Andrew winked and flashed another one of his dazzling half-smiles. Stiles only now realized how close Andrew had come.

And that was very close.

They remained standing there, with Stiles trying to find simply anything to look at except Andrew's eyes, and anything to say the wouldn't make things even more awkward; or even anything to do that would make him finally take a step back, since his own feet seemed to be frozen to the ground.

Eventually, he made the mistake of looking up into Andrew's hypnotizing, icy blue eyes.

"Stiles—" he'd started to say with a deep, mesmerizing voice, when suddenly he was cut off by a deafeningly loud howl that emerged from the woods. Both the boys whipped their heads around in its general direction, but were soon distracted by the chaos erupting in every direction as the animals apparently lost their minds and thrashed, barked, yelped, hissed and squeaked. Andrew ran back to the building to get Holly, while Stiles remained forever frozen on the spot. He turned around and looked at the woods on the other side, and not for the first time, and neither the last, he saw two red beams of light.


	5. Acceptance

The next few days didn't really have much in store for Stiles. Actually an entire week went by when nothing really major had happened; except, maybe, getting a job. He'd decided to go with it, accept the deal for some part-time work. It was pretty good pay, and an amusing workplace. For some reason unknown even to him, Morrell was right. Stiles didn't want to admit that he was actually having fun. He wondered if that were the case because he was filling his free time with other activities than just thinking about his mother, or because he really liked the company of people that didn't really know what was happening to him. People that didn't pity him, and were at least somewhat glad to see him. People like Holly and Andrew.

Holly gladly greeted him like an old friend whenever he walked through the door of that shelter. Of course, that had been the case the first time he had visited her, too, but after that first day at work with Andrew, when he informed her of his decision to actually take the job up, she had been acting like he was her long-lost son.

And Andrew… Andrew was quite the quirky personality. Throughout the workday he went from malicious to entertaining to friendly and back to malicious. Stiles thought there were also phases when he was flirty, but dismissed that notion as something he had made up in his head. There was not way a guy like Andrew was interested in the short, skinny, depressed teenager that was Stiles. He wasn't even an adult yet, not for a few more weeks at least. Basically, Stiles mainly concluded that he really had no idea how to approach Andrew most of the time, but when he was being friendly, he was really good at it.

After about a week's time, it had come to a point where Stiles was going through the entire school day thinking about the time when he would be driving himself out of there and towards the animal rehabilitation center. It was Friday; right after school was over, when he ran into Ms. Morrell in the hallway.

"Oh, Stiles!" she exclaimed.

"Hi," he smiled at her simply, but didn't really make any movement indicating that he wanted to be someplace else.

"Um, I know this is kind of out of the blue, but if there isn't anyplace you have be at right now, I'd like to steal you away for a few minutes. Just to talk," she requested, with a smile charming as ever. Stiles looked at his watch. He had a good forty-five minutes before he had to get to work, and that left him with plenty of time for a small talk and lunch before he headed over.

"Sure," he replied, because, why not? Besides, it was Morrell. What could be so bad? They silently walked back to her office, but unlike last time, they were walking side by side, not one behind the other. Like they were friends.

Eventually, they arrived and they sat down inside. Morrell closed the door.

"So, Stiles, long time no see. It's been over a week, right?" she began cheerfully.

"Yeah, it has," he nodded with a half-smile.

"How are things going, then? Did you get around to checking out that animal clinic I suggested?" she asked hopefully.

"It's a rehabilitation center, and yeah. I actually picked up a job there. I'm gonna go have lunch after… this," he said and gestured to the air between them, "and head on over there."

"Rehabilitation center? Since when do animals go to rehab?" she questioned with squinted eyes.

"Oh, it's not like that. It's for hurt animals, or endangered ones… Just animals that need special care and can't go to any clinic," Stiles explained.

"Stiles, I know. That was a joke," she said quietly.

"A joke?"

She nodded.

"Ah. Well, I, uh… I hadn't picked up on that," he murmured awkwardly.

"Yeah, so," she began loudly, while shaking her head, trying to move past the weird moment.

"How do you like it there, then? Have things been better?" she asked.

"What things?" Stiles enquired. Morrell glanced at her lap, and licked her lips while she thought about how to phrase her next words.

"To be honest, it was kind of obvious that something was bothering you the last time you were here. But, as you remember, we didn't really talk about that, and I didn't want to pressure you into telling me what was going on. However, there will come a point where you need to face your problem Stiles. That's why I suggested you work at the animal center. I wanted you to be surrounded by optimism. I've met Holly, by the way. She's a firecracker."

"Tell me about it…"

"The thing is, Stiles, I respect your decision if you don't want to tell me what's going on. If you don't tell anyone, though, or at least don't do anything about this, it could turn out to be catastrophic. It must be very frustrating, and without you wanting to, that frustration could cause you to mess up the relationships you have with people. And losing people from your life, especially at this point, could lead to serious issues."

Stiles stared at her. He was torn between being angry at her about acting like she had him all figured out, or amazed at the fact that she actually had him all figured out, after a single conversation.

If he was going to be honest with himself, he was really desperate for someone to come along and make things feel better, but that someone seemed to be taking just a little bit too long. Morrell would just have to do for now. The next thing he said, he never could really explain.

"Somebody died a couple of years ago, somebody I was really close with. And my birthday is in a few weeks, and every year around this time I feel like crap. I don't know why, maybe subconsciously I blame myself for it. Maybe I feel guilty for celebrating my birthday when she's dead, so I get ridiculously depressed instead. I don't even know, I just… It's like there's something inside me that won't let me be even a little bit happy.

"Most of the time I want to hit something. See someone pay for what happened to her, even though it wasn't anybody's fault. I want to scream. I'd do anything to see her, to have her in my life again. I know that nothing is going to bring her back, but I just—" Stiles stopped to take a deep breath. The lump in his throat was hindering his ability to speak clearly, and the tears in his eyes were letting him see Morrell's expression too clearly. Maybe that was for the best.

"Death doesn't really happen to you, you know? It happens to everyone around you."

Stiles' voice was so soft and weak, completely void of his usual zest for life. As if when presented with the choice to either live on, or end his life right that instant, he had no idea what he would choose. He was slouching forward in his attempt to curl up into a small ball and shrink until he finally disappeared. He was broken, and alone.

Morrell said nothing for a minute or two.

"Stiles?" she called. When it was obvious he didn't have it in him to respond, she went on.

"Do you want my help?"

"What?" he murmured without looking up. He was rubbing the index finger of one hand against the thumb of the other, there was a tear caught between them. Staring at his fingers slowly intertwining like that seemed to relax him.

"If you want my help, in any way, shape or form, tell me. I'm not going to do or say anything if you don't want me to. So, do you?" she asked softly. He looked up at her.

"If I'm being honest, I have no idea." She sighed at his apathy. Not out of exasperation, or boredom at having to deal with yet another depressed teenager, but thoughtfully. Just something to do while she formed a sentence in her mind.

"Is it okay if I ask you some questions?" she enquired. Stiles gave a noncommittal expression.

"Were you in love with her?"

"No, but I loved her. She was a family member."

"So, your parents know about her."

A pause on Stiles' part.

"Yes," he said sharply.

"Have you talked about her?"

"Yeah, with my dad. But not so much this year."

"What about your friends? Is there anyone you would talk to about this?"

"Well, Scott knows about her, and Allison. Jackson and Lydia know about her, too, though I'm really sure if they're my friends or not. Scott and Allison, they want to talk to me. I just don't think that I want to," he responded.

"How about Scott then? People your age tend to be much closer and honest with their friends than their parents. Would you want to talk to him? From our last talk, I understand you guys have been close for years now," she suggested. She seemed to be quite keen on getting him to open up to anyone, if not her. Stiles smiled sadly.

"Yeah, maybe not Scott."

"Why do you say it like that?"

"I don't know, maybe the fact that Scott tried to get me to talk about my mom, and then I stormed out? I mean, he sent me a text after I left, but other than that, we haven't really talked or seen much of each other. You have no idea how awkward lunch is."

Morrell stared at her lap again, not really knowing how to respond. Stiles realized he'd let it slip that his mother was dead.

Oops.

"Stiles, losing a parent can feel like… this. But don't let it fester. You need to do something about this. And, at the end of the day, if there's nobody else you want to talk to about this, I'm here," she said and raised her hand a little bit. He chuckled.

"It's okay to be lost, you know. I went to college thinking I was going come out the other side with a Fine Arts major. And now, here I am, counseling teenagers at a high school. My point is, you never know what life if going to give you until it's in front of your face. So don't give up just yet, this is going to get better."

They looked at each other, then Stiles looked at his feet, and then his watch.

"I should get going if I want to get some lunch," he announced and stood up. He grabbed his bag from the chair next to the one he was sitting on and made for the door.

"You know my door's always open, right?" she called after him. He paused for a little bit, and closed the door behind him.

He pulled the Jeep into park and got out. In the back he kept his work uniform, in which he looked ridiculous, but there was nothing he could really do about that, now was there? He looked across the street at the animal center, and through the glass doors, he thought he saw Holly running around inside, being her usual self. Stiles' stomach grumbled as he walked to the sidewalk. He hadn't been able to stomach any food after his nauseating confessions to Morrell.

As soon as he had set foot out of he parking lot and onto the pavement, his phone started ringing. He fished it out of his pocked and looked at the caller ID.

Scott McCall.

"Hello?" he answered without hesitation. There wasn't much else that could go worse.

"Hey, Stiles. What's up?" Scott asked.

"Um, not much, why?" he responded, and looked around. He didn't want to cross the street yet –somehow he had a feeling that he didn't want Holly, or anybody for that matter, hearing his conversation.

"Nothing important, I was just looking for you after school, I thought maybe we could go for lunch."

Sure, they hadn't talked since last week but lunch wouldn't be awkward at all.

"Oh, well I couldn't go anyway, I'm about to walk into work," said Stiles.

"Should I hang up then?"

"No, I'm free to talk for a little longer," Stiles said, truthfully. He actually had a good fifteen minutes before he had to go in, but sitting in his Jeep thinking about how depressed he was didn't really feel like an appealing alternative. However, since they had nothing to talk about, there was nothing but silence on the line for half a minute which seemed like an eternity.

"So… Have you heard about Lahey?" Scott began, trying to get the conversation going.

"Who, Isaac?"

"Yeah."

"No, what about him?" Stiles asked, not really sure if he was actually interested in what Scott had to say about Lahey. Probably something about him moving up the ranks in the lacrosse team.

"Well, he kind of vanished," Scott declared.

"What do you mean?" Stiles asked, confused.

"Yeah, he just disappeared on Monday and nobody's seen him. I mean, we had all thought that at least someone knew what had happened to him, but today in the locker room everybody was saying that he wasn't even picking up the phone and stuff…"

"Huh…" Stiles explained. He would have been more interested if he actually knew Isaac. "Well, you know, if he was going to come down with something I don't think he would have taken out an ad in the paper or make a public announcement. He'll probably be back by Monday."

"I guess so… At least we don't have a game today," Scott said. "Stiles?"

"Mm?"

"I'm sorry, you know," Scott said with sincerity.

"About what?"

"You know, the other day, bringing up you mom."

If it was awkward before, Stiles had no idea what the hell it was now. But, he had to take Morrell's advice and face his problems. For the first time in the entire year, he was being brave. He was accepting the fact that maybe things were going to be okay after all. He was taking his first steps towards being better.

"Yeah, it's okay. I shouldn't have stormed out like that."

"Hey, man, you had every right." Stiles smiled at how lucky he was to have Scott by his side.

They spent a few more seconds saying their awkward goodbyes, and then they hung up. Stiles went across and inside the center with a silly, half-grin plastered across his face. Holly greeted him merrily, and he went in the staff restroom to change into his uniform. Then, he went out back and found Andrew had already started on feeding the birds, so Stiles got to work on the mammals. Andrew was looking very dark and grumpy, so Stiles decided to keep his distance since he was having one of those days. He thought to himself that things were finally going to be alright once more.

Well, not quite yet.


	6. The Manager

"Oh, sweetie, we missed you so much! How's your arm?" Holly squeaked. She was ecstatic.

"Yeah, it's all healed up," the man said, and braced himself for one of Holly's bear hugs, even though he knew there was no preparing for those.

"Well, tell me everything! What the hell happened to you?" she demanded. So, they spent about half an hour where he explained to her how he had gotten into his accident, how he had to take a couple of months of work and let it heal –even though his entire forearm looked completely untouched. They talked about how inefficient the hospital system was, and how he had to drive himself there. They talked about how painful it was, and how it was difficult to do household chores with a cast around his arm.

"But I'm definitely ready to get back to work!" he reassured her when she was done prying every sliver of information she could get out of him.

"Oh, I almost forgot to tell you! We have a new addition to our team. Andrew told me he needed some help around the place, and I put a sign outside that said we were looking for someone. And wouldn't you know it, this boy Stiles came right along within the next week!"

"Is he good with the animals?" he asked concernedly.

"He's amazing! You know, there's a learning curve to this job, I had never expected him to pick it up so quickly. Especially while having to learn from Andrew, if you know what I mean…"

"Of course I do," he chuckled at her comment. "I was the one that trained him, remember?" They both laughed on and on to their heart's content before he suggested going out back and meeting Stiles. Holly giddily egged him on as she retreated back to her office, forever handling her paperwork.

The man walked through the screen door and followed the sound of the footsteps –or rather the heartbeats- of the employees. He walked lazily past cages of birds while enjoying the familiar feeling of their colorful feathers and harmonious whistling blending into what he loved doing most. He had a great job.

"Derek," somebody called behind him. He turned around to see Andrew.

"Ah, Andrew. Long time no see," Derek acknowledged.

"Yeah, it's good to see you again. Are you feeling better?" Andrew asked snidely. Derek realized that he was dealing with the moody kind of Andrew this fine day.

"A lot better, actually. Looks like my arm's healed up pretty nice," he said and absentmindedly caressed his forearm.

"Oh, please. Holly bought that crap?" Andrew spat, with a look of disgust across his pretty face.

"What?" Derek asked.

"Hello?" Stiles greeted as he popped up, out of nowhere, really.

"Hey, Stiles," Andrew interjected before Derek had any chance of greeting Stiles back, yanking the conversation away from any possibility of it not being awkward.

"I'd like you to meet Derek, he's the manager here. Derek, this is Stiles, the new employee," he said, and forcefully patted Stiles on the back; who, after managing to stay upright, extended his hand. Derek smiled, ignoring Andrew, and looked Stiles up and down quickly before he actually shook Stiles' hand.

"It's a pleasure, Stiles," he said. All three of them stood around not really saying anything for a few seconds, and Andrew seemed to be enjoying the awkward silence in a threateningly weird way.

"So, how do you like our little establishment here? Are you finding it pleasant?" Derek asked Stiles, hoping that he would elaborate and get the talk going.

"I do, actually. When I signed up, I'd never thought I'd be liking it so much, but you know, here I am!"

They both forced a laugh. Andrew didn't bother.

After a few torturously long seconds, Derek spoke.

"Well, Holly seems to be drowning in paperwork, so I think I'm gonna head back to my old post, and help her out a little bit!" he said. If the conversation had been a vehicle, Derek's knuckles would be white as they gripped the steering wheel so tightly, desperate to veer towards pleasant, but hopelessly crashing in awkward, leaving a pile of scrap metal.

While he walked away, Stiles did not fail to catch Andrew's spiteful eyes following Derek's footsteps –but only after Stiles himself had indulged in checking out the dark, yet cheerful man's entire back side for a moment or two.

Stiles was well aware of the fact that it was one of the days when Andrew had a rather unpleasant air about him, but decided to play with fire.

"So, Derek seems like a nice guy…" he began as both the boys got back to work. Andrew simply grunted, but Stiles had been feeling like his old self lately. And he really didn't have it in him to let something go without being at least a little bit persistent, now did he?

"Do you not like him?"

Andrew had been bent over, trying to pick up a key he'd dropped. He stood upright and looked Stiles dead in the eye with a look that said 'I will straight up lynch you if you do not stop talking within the next two seconds.'

"I'm gonna go get a drink of water," Andrew said with his nostrils flaring, and stormed off. In that moment, Stiles could swear that those eyes had flashed an icy blue, but he thought they were just reflecting the sunlight.

He sighed in his failed attempt to try and get some entertaining conversation out of Andrew. At least he had actually made an effort to be light and cheerful this fine afternoon, taking another step away from his yearly phase of depression.

He brushed off being completely ignored by Andrew, because by this point, honestly, he was used to it. He got ready to re-fill one of the bowls of the foxes by picking up a half-empty bag of food. As he looked for it –Andrew had instructed him to feed it, because he tended to stay away from the mammals for some reason- he tried to remember the name of the cage. Was it 36?

Stiles went on and on until he found the 36th cage. If it weren't that one, hopefully it would have been close by. When he did locate it, he noticed that the bowl inside had indeed been empty. He removed the padlock from the door and stepped inside.

"Hey, buddy," Stiles called for the small animal. "Where are you hiding out this time?" he asked, as he bent over and grabbed the bowl.

"I've got some goodies for you, why don't you come out and eat?" he asked again, waiting for an answer. He filled it and shook it around in his hand to get the food in it to rattle, and hopefully draw the fox out of its hiding sport. When nothing happened, Stiles got down on one knee, and peered along the ground so that he could see inside the hollow log.

"You in there?" he went on in a childish voice. He reached out a hand to let the animal smell him; realize there was no threat.

Instead, he felt a sharp stab of pain on both the front and back of his right hand.

"Argh! Damn it!" he yelled and yanked his now bleeding hand back. The fox had bit him.

"Shit, that hurts! What was that for, you little freak?" he demanded from the log.

"Stiles! What's wrong?" he heard a familiar voice yell, and then some hurried footsteps. Stiles stood up, dragged the bag of food outside of the cage with his left hand, and put the padlock back on the cage door. As soon as he turned around, Derek was in his face.

"The fox bit me!" he stated.

Derek looked down at Stiles' hand, made a weird face, and checked the chart hanging from the front of the animal's cage. There was a bright yellow sticker on the top.

"Stiles, that's yellow!" he said.

"So what?" Stiles demanded. He wasn't exactly feeling polite or conversational. His hand was burning, and his focus was scattered in every which way.

"Yellow means rabies! How did you not remember that?"

"I never learned that! I've only been here for a week or two," Stiles defended himself. Granted, Andrew hadn't been as keen on the teaching as he had been at the bossing around.

"Come on, you need a shot for that," he said, and put an arm around Stiles' shoulders.

"What?" Stiles asked, not moving despite Derek's attempts to shove him along.

"You just got bitten by a fox with rabies. You need a shot, so come on," Derek said slowly. On a different occasion, Stiles would have protested. But, he was in pain, bleeding and he had holes in his hand. Going to the hospital with a stranger didn't seem like the worst choice at the moment.

And besides: Derek wasn't a stranger, he was a co-worker.

In less than five minutes, the pair had made their way across the lines of cages, through the main lobby, out onto the street and across to the parking lot. There, Derek pulled out his keys and a black Camaro flashed its lights to announce that it had been unlocked. Stiles got in the passenger seat with no hesitation, and Derek started driving the same instant he got in.

They were nearly at the hospital when Stiles was getting used to the pain, and he turned around to ask a question.

"How did you know to come looking for me? I was all the way in the back," he enquired, thoughtfully. Derek squinted.

"I heard you yelling," he said, not exactly lying.

"From your office?"

"I have sensitive ears."

The next thing Stiles knew, Derek was violently parking as close to the ER entrance as the law would allow him, and got out of the car while shutting the engine off in the process. In lightning speed, he was around at Stiles' door, opening it for him.

"Thanks," he murmured and headed for the doors, not really waiting for Derek. When they had gotten in, they were told by a nurse to fill out a form. Stiles recited all his information to Derek, who had offered to write it down for him on account of his hurt hand.

"Are you a family member?" the nurse asked.

"What?" Derek replied dumbly.

"Are you related to him?" she demanded more roughly and pointed to Stiles quite rudely.

"Um, yes," he said.

"Okay, then why don't you both come with me."

They both followed her, and every single step Stiles took, he had his face turned towards Derek and giving him some incredulous looks. They walked through a winding corridor and they finally reached a room, which the nurse seemed to think was appropriate. She disappeared for a few seconds.

"Derek, what the hell?" Stiles hissed as quietly as his confusion would allow.

"What?" he asked, matter-of-factly.

"Family member? Really?"

The nurse chose to walk back in at that moment, holding a vial. She emptied it into a syringe, and gave Stiles his shot. She proceeded to disinfect the area of the bite with a quite painful antiseptic.

"Well, it doesn't really look like it needs stitches to be honest," the nurse stated, oblivious to the awkward tension between Derek and Stiles. "The bleeding is just because of the amount of pricks the bite left, it's not that they're serious or anything. I think you'll be able to get away with just a bandage," she went on, and forced a smile at him. She proceeded to tightly wrap his hand in a bandage and clip it tight, instructing him to keep it on for a few hours.

Stiles barely listened. He was just waiting to get back to the car, or at least someplace where he could talk to Derek. Once they were out the doors of the hospital, he started.

"Derek?" Stiles asked, trying to take things calmly. Maybe there was a decent explanation.

"Yes?" They both walked along as if nothing had happened. They reached the Camaro in less than a minute, and got in. The engine revved.

"Are you going to pay my emergency room bill too?" he asked. Stiles couldn't resist. The sarcastic comment was right there, and it was in his nature to seize the opportunity as Derek started driving.

"Do you need me to? Are you having financial trouble?"

"Okay, Derek, I've only known you for a few hours, and I think it's a little bit too soon to say something like this, but cut the crap."

Derek sighed.

"Okay, so what?" he asked.

"Why did you say you were a family member? You know, I was perfectly capable of walking myself to the nurse's room, Not that I don't appreciate it, but—"

"Stiles, I know it's kind of weird, but I wasn't going to wait in the waiting room for fifteen minutes all by myself. Besides, people say they're family all the time, you think anybody checks that?"

"That's why it's called a waiting room, by the way. People tend to wait in it."

Derek smiled at the comment, genuinely and charmingly. He even switched his gaze from the road to Stiles' eyes for a second.

"You're hungry, right?" Derek asked. Without waiting for an answer, he flicked his turning signal, and took a violently sharp left turn into the parking lot of the town diner.

"Uh, I was actually—"

"Good," Derek stated merrily and quickly parked the car, not seeming at all affected by the earthquake that was his driving. He nimbly got out, and proceeded to open Stiles' door yet again.

"I am also capable of opening my own doors, by the way. While we're on the subject…" Stiles muttered quickly.

"And how do you know I'm hungry?" he went on.

"Your stomach is growling," Derek simply explained as they both walked across the parking lot to the entrance. Stiles was trying to keep up with the conversation and his stride at the same time, a task which proved to be quite challenging.

"Yeah, but I might have had plans to do dinner with my dad, or with my friends! It's Friday night you know…" Stiles argued.

"Do you?"

He was quiet.

"No, but that's besides the point."

Derek got to the diner door, and looked at Stiles with an amused and satisfied expression.

"So I got you to the hospital, I came with you to the back and I'm giving you a Friday night out, but you're complaining?" Derek asked as he held it open. Stiles looked him dead in the eye and scowled.

"Well, at least I'm going to pay for myself," he announced and stomped in. Derek chuckled and followed him in, as he let the door lazily swing closed.


	7. Admittance

Stiles enjoyed his work. It was a release, someplace where he didn't think about himself, or his problems, but of those of the animals. Apparently, busy hands were happy hands.

And the people there, they made sure he didn't get a moment of depression in his work schedule. Holly, special as a snowflake, seemed to either be entirely and consistently optimistic, or just on an endless supply of antidepressants. Her frantic tones had gone down a bit since Derek had returned to the workplace, and taken some work off of her hands, but it was not enough to get her to forget her cheerful ways.

And… Derek. If Andrew was mysterious, then Derek was some kind of extraterrestrial being, because Stiles had never met any person as dark and broody as Derek in his life –and he had spent quite some time in the police station, glimpsing at criminals being escorted around. Granted, he had shown a much more approachable side to his personality on the first day Stiles had met him, but that soon changed. After all, Stiles was in need of immediate hospital care; Derek couldn't afford to put up the sullen act at the time. However, he had wasted no time after the day was over in keeping his distance. It seemed to Stiles like everyone had a strange personality in that place, considering Derek's caring words at the diner after they went to the hospital.

The bell rang violently, and Stiles immediately lost his train of thought. It was a Monday morning, and it was Stiles' imagination. There was no way that didn't add up to daydreaming during Chemistry.

Stiles shoved his books in his bag and walked out, and as soon as he walked out of the door and took a right to head for his locker, a hand clasped his shoulder. He turned to see it was Scott.

"Hey, man," Scott said just a little bit too loudly.

"Uh, hi. Why are you screaming?"

"What do you mean?"

"Er, nothing."

"What?"

"Nothing!"

Scott looked slightly offended, but keep walking with Stiles nonetheless.

"So, I haven't asked you how your job is going," Scott pointed out.

"It's really good, and it's helping me deal with what's been going on," Stiles provided, not really realizing what was coming out of his mouth until he had actually said it. Scott and Stiles had managed to get past the awkward stage after Scott's confrontation about Stiles' depression, but they hadn't actually discussed it. It was just, kind of, there.

"Yeah, it shows. I'm glad that you're feeling better," he responded casually. If there was one thing Stiles could count on Scott to do is keep calm as long as his loved ones were happy.

So, things didn't have to be awkward, after all.

"Hey, Scott, you want to go for lunch after school?" Stiles asked out of the blue. He had been neglecting his friend, and it wasn't as if he had many other ones, so he could afford to let a few of his friendships fade away. Besides, Scott and Stiles had been friends ever since Stiles could remember.

"Uh… Yeah," he said with a grin after some thought, and then abruptly turned to the right and disappeared into a classroom.

The rest of the morning passed uneventfully. Ms. Morrell had flashed him a grin and a nod across a corridor at some point, and he thought they were going to have another one of their little conversations, but she didn't pursue him, so he let it slip past.

Then, the final bell of the day rang.

"Stiles!" Allison called his name as soon as she saw him, in the front courtyard. He was about to walk to his Jeep to meet Scott and go for that lunch they had agreed on, and Stiles considered inviting Allison to tag along, but he knew that would mean minimal conversation between Scott and himself.

Allison stuck her hand into a group of people and fished out Lydia, who begrudgingly walked up to Stiles by Allison's side.

"Stiles, I demand an explanation!" Allison exclaimed viciously, but there was a wide smile on her face, so Stiles knew she was joking.

"About what?" he asked.

"Where the hell have you been? I haven't seen you in, like, a week, besides lunchtime!"

"Oh, that," he mumbled. He really did not feel like bringing something serious up with Allison –or with anyone, for that matter. "I don't know, just around, I guess…"

"You just make sure that I get to see a lot more of this face!" she ordered him and squeezed his cheeks like a small child's. He pulled away, but not angrily. She giggled and walked away with a cheerful 'goodbye'. Stiles liked that about her: she knew how to sense the tone, and speak accordingly. He strode to his Jeep with a new kick in his step when he heard Lydia's voice from behind him and he turned around.

"Yeah?" he called back. He expected some kind of insult or a meaningless 'bye' or… Well, he really didn't know what to expect, because Lydia never actively sought him out.

"You look… better," she said across the courtyard, and followed Allison back inside the school. Stiles remained frozen to the spot for quite some time.

Lydia Martin had complimented him across a crowd of witnesses, and as if that wasn't strange enough, his heart wasn't fluttering with excitement.

It wasn't that he didn't appreciate it, or that he didn't believe her, because her face had shown honesty. It was just that… His heart was tired of her. Tired of waiting for her to flick her hair at him yet another time, and leave him in the hopes that she would finally confess her undying love to him and never failing to disappoint. As if when Stiles had finally started crawling out of his dark and moody state of apathy, he had forgotten how to host the emotions that spewed out of him every time he saw Lydia. Or maybe, he was just over her, over feeling unwanted. Maybe he had finally found a way to dismiss his emotions and get some closure.

On that bittersweet note, he reached his Jeep and found Scott with his hand stuck in the window, trying to unlock the door from the outside.

Once Stiles had finally managed to get into the car and pull the window down to free Scott, they wasted no time getting on the road. Stiles' shift began in about an hour and a half.

"So, where should we go?" Stiles asked.

"Well, not McDonalds," Scott chuckled. Stiles frowned at him. Not because he was offended, but because he honestly did not get that reference.

"What do you mean?"

"You know…" Scott said and widened his eyes, and bobbed his head up and down.

"No, I don't."

"You know… How last time we went there..."

Stiles was silent.

"You got punched?"

"Oh, yeah."

Now the silence was mutual, for a good three minutes.

"There's a new pizza place around—" Scott suggested. Or tried to.

"Yeah, let's go there." Not much else was said until they had actually driven to the pizza place and had ordered, so they were basically staring into space and waiting for their food.

"So, did you hear about Boyd and Erica?" Scott asked.

"What? The big, black guy and the girl with the epilepsy?" Stiles frowned.

"Yeah, they kind of vanished too. Just like Lahey."

"Has anybody looked into this?"

"I don't think so," Scott said indifferently.

"Scott, this is serious. Three people of the same age, from the same school just disappear? That can't be a coincidence," Stiles explained concernedly.

"That's your dad talking," Scott commented with a smirk.

"That's actually common sense." Scott pulled a face but was soon distracted by a tall, broad man who walked into the store. It wasn't that they lived in a small, faraway village and new faces weren't an everyday occurrence. In fact, the man's face wasn't new at all. It was just the way he handled himself that made Scott lose his train of thought. It was as if he owned the place, but at the same time he meant no harm to anybody.

"What?" Stiles asked when Scott stopped talking and just stared. Stiles turned around and saw Derek. They looked at each other for the briefest of moments, but it was enough. Derek was courteous enough to not let himself not go up to Stiles and greet him, even though he knew it would probably be an action considered unnecessary and unwanted on both ends –not to mention awkward.

"Who's that?"

"He works at my job," Stiles managed to whisper before Derek got within earshot. Or at least, what he thought was earshot.

"Hey guys," Derek greeted, trying to keep things light and friendly.

"Hi, Derek. This is Scott," he said, and waved at Scott. Derek extended his arm and Scott meekly shook it. "Scott, this is Derek. He's the manager at the animal rehabilitation clinic, where I work."

"And if I'm right, the afternoon shift starts in about…" Derek said, dragging that last word out as he looked at his watch. "One hour?"

"Yeah, that's right."

"Alright, so I guess I'll see you there," Derek exclaimed, and patted Stiles on the shoulder.

"Yeah, I'll see you too…" Stiles replied and looked at Derek thoughtfully, even after he walked away. At least nothing had gone embarrassingly badly.

"What the hell was that about?" Scott asked with his eyebrows higher than humanly possible.

"What—What's going on?"

"You're practically checking him out!" Scott hissed. Stiles could almost feel the icicles forming around him.

"No, I'm not," Stiles breathed.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Stiles, come on."

"Come on, what?"

"Come on and out of the closet," Scott said, with an expression that was a mixture of determination, compassion and amusement. The latter was probably on account of Stiles' seemingly blank reaction. What Scott didn't know was that Stiles' mind was going at two hundred miles an hour by that point. He just gulped.

"Stiles, look. I've known you for as long as I can remember. It's fine if you're gay. Just tell me so I can stop trying to get you to talk about girls!" Scott chuckled quietly. Maybe he was trying to drag his friend out of the closet, but he respected the fact that not the entire restaurant had to know. Stiles simply stared and cursed Scott in his mind for being the most oblivious person on the planet, but being able to pick up on Stiles checking guys out.

And then he thought, why was he panicking? He was sitting across the nicest, best friend he'd ever had, telling him that he had figured out about Stiles' sexuality, and that he was completely fine with it. There was nothing to worry about.

"Yeah, I think you should stop that," he admitted, and started laughing. If somebody had told him this morning that by lunch he'd be coming out of the closet to Scott, he would have laughed in their faces. But now that it had happened, Stiles felt gladder than ever. Everything was brilliant for the first time in a good month, and as Stiles and Scott had their pizza, Stiles couldn't help but look over Scott's shoulder at the stools, where Derek had taken a seat.


	8. Square One

Stiles finished his last bite of pizza with a satisfied smirk on his face at having cracked a joke at Scott's expense, who simply chuckled along. He checked his phone, because he thought he'd seen something pop up. As usual, he had no text messages.

"Oh shit!" he exclaimed a little too loudly.

"What, what happened?" Scott asked.

"I'm late!"

Within three minutes, they had left some money on the table, ran out, jumped in the Jeep and got on the road. Stiles would have to drop Scott off at his house, which wouldn't be too big of a detour, but it would still cost him some time. He pressed his foot down a little bit harder on the gas pedal, but his father's voice warning him not to speed boomed in his head, so he decided to take the risk and go at a normal speed.

Luckily, they had managed to go through all the green lights, with the exception of a few yellow ones, and arrive at the McCall residence within a little more than five minutes.

"Thanks!" Scott called, but his voice was drowned in the revving noise the engine made as Stiles drove away, not really waiting around for goodbyes. As he made his way to the center, he thought about taking a shortcut, but remembered how lost he'd gotten the previous week when he tried to go through there. He decided against it.

"Am I late?" he panted after he had parked opposite the rehabilitation center and ran across the street, into the reception. Andrew was standing idly by, probably getting ready to head out back.

"No, why?" he asked, and flashed a smile. At least he was feeling rather cheerful. Even if he was having one his dark and twisted days, there wasn't much that could bring Stiles down from his high after his conversation with Scott.

"Nothing, I just had this feeling I was going to be late. I'll meet you out back," he said, beaming, and with his uniform in hand, he went to get changed.

Soon enough, he had joined Andrew in cleaning out a few of the cages. As they were working, Andrew decided he was feeling conversational.

"So, how's your hand?" he asked.

"Yeah, almost healed up," Stiles replied and showed his hand to prove it. Only a couple of plasters were all that was necessary by now.

"If you don't want to be holding the hose, you can do something else. You know, just in case you don't want to get any water on it," Andrew said concernedly.

"Uh…" Stiles was stumped. "It's fine actually," he stammered after he had finally been able to get over the shock of Andrew's kindness. "Thanks for the thoughtfulness," Stiles chuckled to himself. Andrew chose that moment to stand up straight with a blank expression on his face.

"What?" he simply asked.

"It's fine, thanks," Stiles said again, more clearly. Andrew took a few, very quick and long strides out of the cage he was in and into Stiles' cage. They were inches away, and now that Stiles had stood up he could literally see nothing in Andrew's eyes. He was completely blank.

"You don't think I'm thoughtful?"

"I—I think you are."

Andrew's eyes darted from Stiles' forehead, to his ears, to his mouth, to his eyes, to his body and back to his eyes.

"That sounded like you don't think I'm thoughtful. Like you think I'm some kind of jerk."

"No, no, you're not a jerk," Stiles said very quickly. He was starting to get worried. This was the weirdest Andrew had ever gotten, but it was the first time Stiles had actually worried for his safety.

"You know, Stiles… Sometimes, you need to fight even for what's rightfully yours." With that, Andrew suddenly whipped his head around and ran out of the cage. Stiles expected him to run into the one he was in before, but he went past that too, until there were no more cages, and he was practically just running towards the woods.

"Andrew!" Stiles yelled. He regretted it as soon as he said it, because he thought that Andrew might come back and hit him. But, he didn't He just kept on running, and running until he had disappeared into the trees.

"What the hell?" Stiles breathed to himself.

"Stiles, is everything okay? Why is the hose running?" somebody asked. Stiles glanced away from the trees, and saw Holly.

"Oh, right," he muttered, and shut off the water. "Andrew just did the weirdest thing," Stiles explained.

"Tell me about it," Holly whined and rolled her eyes.

"No, I mean literally the weirdest thing ever. He just came up to me with a really serial-killer kind of look, and then he just ran off into the forest."

Holly laughed.

"Stiles, don't make fun of him. Just get back to work, alright?" she said, but not scornfully, and patted him on the shoulder. She was about to turn around and head to her office when Stiles spoke.

"I'm not joking, Andrew just ran away. I don't know why, that's why I was yelling after him," Stiles said with a desperate look. Holly looked him up and down a few times.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes!"

She sighed.

"Okay, dial his number," she instructed. Stiles pulled out his phone and looked through his contacts until he found Andrew. It was Holly who had given him the number, just in case of an emergency. There was no way Stiles would go up to Andrew and ask him for his phone number. And this probably qualified as quite the peculiar emergency.

As soon as he pressed the dial button, Holly held out her hand and Stiles gave her the phone. She put it up to her ear and waited.

"He's not picking up," she said seriously and handed him the phone.

"Maybe he doesn't have reception in the forest?" Stiles suggested, but even he didn't believe it. She looked at him, and sighed again.

"Alright, just get back to work. I'll see what I can do about this."

That was it, basically. There was nothing more for Stiles to do. All there was to do was carry on working while wondering what the actual hell was wrong with Andrew. Stiles had always known that that boy was slightly… unique, at best. But, to pull something like that, it either took a strong drive for a practical joke, or genuine eccentricity. Stiles hoped it wasn't the latter, but he had spent enough days with Andrew to know that it would most definitely not be the first one.

Even though he couldn't be completely sure. There was always something about Andrew, something that changed at the flip of a coin. Some days he was as friendly as anybody could be, and some other days… Well on other days, he was like this. It was just like Stiles' luck to end up working with someone who would stare at him like a deer looks dumbly at the oncoming headlights of a car and then run into the wooded area, like some other kind of animal. At least he hadn't been on all fours.

"Stiles! Stiles, where are you?" a man called.

"Here, way at the back!" Stiles replied. He had grown to recognize that voice, especially after his meal at the diner, the night after he was bitten.

"What happened?" Derek asked. He had caught Stiles in the middle of checking up on one of the strays that had been severely injured.

"Uh, I think it got hit by a car, or something. Maybe it says on the—"

"No, Stiles! What happened with Andrew?" Derek demanded loudly. He had an urgent look in his eyes, and his posture showed that he was about to jump onto Stiles and squeeze the answers he wanted out of him.

"Oh!" Stiles realized a little too late how stupid he must have seemed with his original response. "He just asked me a couple of weird questions, and then ran off. Holly tried calling him, but he won't pick up. She said she was going to look into it, but she hasn't told me anything."

"Did he seem angry? Derek said, very quickly. It was as if he didn't have a moment to waste, and he was getting Stiles worried, too.

"No, he was just kind of… spaced out. Derek is something going on?"

"No, it's fine. Just tell me where he went."

"He ran towards the trees, why?"

"Where exactly?"

Stiles had a moment of worried hesitation.

"There," he half-asked, and pointed towards the general direction Andrew had taken. Derek spun around and strode swiftly towards the center. Only a minute later, Stiles heard a loud and deep engine rev into life and wheels screeching. He would have to be an idiot to not at least consider the possibility of the noises coming from Derek's Camaro.

"Dad?" Stiles called as he walked into his house. There was some light coming from the kitchen, but the living room was still dark. Stiles walked in to find his dad poring over his paperwork on the kitchen table.

"In the kitchen…" the sheriff replied absentmindedly. Whatever he was working on, it required his full attention.

"What's that? Looks serious…" Stiles commented, and stood over his father's shoulder, looking at the dozens of pages.

"It is serious," he replied, and looked up. "Can you guess what else it is?"

"Confidential?"

"That's right."

Stiles took the rather obvious hint and moved away. He walked up the stairs and whipped his bag off his shoulder, getting ready to toss it onto the floor of his bedroom. He walked in, dismissed his bag and flicked the lights on as he kicked his shoes off.

"Argh!" he screamed in utter shock and slammed the door behind him.

"Stiles? Is everything okay?" he heard his father call from downstairs.

"Yeah, just… Stubbed my toe," Stiles lied. "What the hell are you doing here?" he hissed as loudly as he could before alerting his father another time.

"Stiles, I had to—" Derek began from the corner he had been looming.

"Do you realize you've broken into the sheriff's house?" Stiles exclaimed, not really interrupting him because he was appalled at the invasion of privacy, but because he was still angry at Derek for scaring him like that.

"Yes, but this was important."

"Too important to tell me over the phone?"

Derek pondered telling Stiles that he had only decided to creep into his bedroom because he had already followed him all the way here from work, and sliding in through the window didn't seem like much trouble after everything he had done before.

"Well?" Stiles demanded, flailing his arms about in frustration.

"Yes, in fact, it was," Derek explained calmly, deciding not to tell Stiles about his previous stalker-ish actions of the day.

"So, what is it?"

Derek took a breath to explain, but let it out. He had to find a way to say whatever he wanted to say in a way that would concern Stiles without alarming him, and would also convince him without intriguing him. Anything too much would encourage Stiles to look into the whole situation, and that could be catastrophic for everyone involved.

"Look, all you need to know is that… Andrew isn't just strange anymore. He's dangerous, and you need to keep your distance."

Stiles responded by making a frustrated noise, and beginning to form a reply to describe the absurdity of the situation when Derek stopped him by quickly pacing across the room and squeezing Stiles' shoulders with both hands.

"Stiles, I really need you to trust me. I know that's a little bit too much to ask right now, and taking me seriously might seem like the last thing on your mind, but I'm not joking. You have to stay away from Andrew. There's no telling when he's going to snap and cause some serious harm."

Derek didn't bother hiding the urgency in his glare. He was staring dead into Stiles' eyes, trying to convince him to believe him in every way possible.

Stiles closed his eyes, and took a deep breath to compose himself. Derek recognized the tension in the boy's body language, and let him go. He was shivering, partly from the chill coming in through the open window, partly from the emotional burden he was carrying. Also, partly due to the fact that a possible criminal was standing in his room.

"Derek, give me a reason not to scream for help like a little girl, right now," Stiles said with a trembling voice. Derek, not knowing what to do, sat on the edge of the bed and rested his elbows on his knees as he buried his face in his hands and sighed. Eventually, he spoke again.

"It's not… I'm not the bad guy here, Stiles. I'm looking out for you."

"Well, then, I've got to tell you, you're not really doing a good job as the good guy either, because you're the one who chased after Andrew today and proceeded to break into my bedroom. And who's to say Andrew is dangerous? What did he ever to do anyone except have a few quirky qualities?"

Derek narrowed his eyes at Stiles.

"Did he already talk to you?" Derek demanded seriously.

"What?"

"Stiles, has Andrew tried talking to you? Convincing you of joining him?"

"Joining him in what? Derek, I can't understand a thing you're saying!"

"Okay, so he hasn't. That's good," Derek said to himself, and paused. Then he looked at the very, very confused teenager again. "He's going to try and change your mind. He's going to try and make you think he's your friend. Don't let him mess with your head, Stiles, you're a smart kid. He's going to use everything he knows about you to get you on his side, even things like your mother's death. Anything and everything that he knows can get to you—"

"What did you just say?" Stiles asked, extremely quietly. Derek was immediately uneasy in completely different way.

"I didn't—"

"Get out," Stiles ordered. "Get out of my house right his instant before I call my dad upstairs and have you arrested."

Derek looked at Stiles with a heartbroken look, but he knew that there was nothing to do here. He had done as much warning as was possible. If he had waited until the morning, he might have missed his chance. Even subconsciously, Stiles would be more highly aware of Andrew now, even if he didn't take Derek's advice to stay away.

Derek stood up, took a few steps towards the window and gracefully swung his body out of it. He shut it behind him and jumped off the roof. Stiles didn't care if he had landed safely.

He almost cried that night before he went to sleep but he didn't have it in him. Instead he cursed Derek for knocking him bad into his terrible state of depression and self-hate. Things had been getting better before he had come along.


	9. Dilemma

"So, are we going to do anything next Friday? It is your birthday, you know," Scott asked.

"I guess, yeah," Stiles mumbled as he strolled through the school hallways, feeling alone in the crowd, while Scott practically jogged to keep up with him. Not because Stiles was moving at any variation of quickly, but because Scott kept bumping into people.

"Alright, so what do you want to do?" Scott yelled over the loud chatting. Stiles did not respond. "Stiles?" he called again.

No response.

"Stiles!"

Stiles looked at his friend, and even the way he turned his head was completely void of enthusiasm.

"Yeah?"

"Stiles, is everything okay? You seemed just fine a few days ago…"

"Yeah, Scott, don't worry."

Scott most definitely did not appear convinced, but he decided to let it go. It had been the first year since Stiles' mother's death when he had been behaving so strangely. He was always obviously and strikingly depressed around this time of the year, but this time… It was different.

It wasn't consistent, and it wasn't finite. Stiles started out looking like he was going through hell, and then he was better. Then he was depressed again, but that's when he decided to take up a job to get him out of his rut. That was probably the weirdest part of it all, since Stiles never really tried to get himself to cheer up or think about something else; he just waited until he didn't feel the need to sulk every second of every day.

It was definitely the job. It was the only possibility. Something was happening at that animal rehabilitation center that Scott knew nothing about. That was what was making things weird this time. After he had started working, Stiles was acting as if nothing bad had ever happened to him, and yet, now… This.

"Scott?" Stiles said, dragging Scott away from his thoughts.

"Yeah?"

"I'm going to catch up with you later, okay?" Stiles asked, but took a different course without really waiting for a response, which was a simple mumble on Scott's part. He navigated his way through the corridors until he found himself standing outside Morrell's office. He didn't know why he was there, but he did know that Morrell was not like everybody else. She wanted the best for him, but forced him to do nothing. She listened and she didn't judge. So, he knocked on the door.

"Come in," she called from inside. As he walked in, she looked up from something she was writing up.

"Ah, Stiles," she greeted awkwardly.

"Hey, is this a bad time?" he asked.

"No, of course. Take a seat," she gestured towards the chairs. "You know, every time you walked in here, I can tell that it's going to go either really well or really badly."

"I'm glad that you find me thrilling enough to invite me inside," he mused.

"Actually, I enjoy your dark sense of humor."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Is there anything you wanted to talk to me about?" she asked.

"Actually, I'm not sure why I'm here. It seems like whenever I'm having a rough time I end up here, so I decided to come on my own and help move the process along, you know?"

He smiled nervously, but Morrell didn't reciprocate.

"A rough time, then?"

"Yeah, I… Uh," he stopped himself. He thought about telling the school counselor about his more than interesting co-workers, but he realized that disappearing into the woods and breaking into houses didn't seem very encouraging to keep her from contacting the authorities, so he decided to skip the details.

"I really don't know what the hell I'm doing," Stiles stated. He was going to be honest. Just not about Andrew or Derek. "I mean, I thought I had gotten over all of this, that I was better, that I was finally mature enough to cope with the death of a loved one, that I could live my life without having to worry that I'm going to go crazy and miss three days' worth of sleep at the mention of my dead mother."

He hadn't expected it to build up to this, and he tried to calm himself by taking a long, trembling breath.

"I'm trying, I really am," he told her. There were no tears in his eyes. He wasn't angry, sad, frustrated or even scared. He was just tired. "I've tried so hard, and I've never tried to deal with all of this before, I've just ignored it up to now. It seems like trying only leads to failure, and I'm sick of all this pointless stuff."

"Stiles, what happened that's got you all in a twist?" she asked him, utterly surprised. She was genuinely not expecting Stiles to slip back to his old ways.

He looked at her.

"You know what happened," he declared, slightly aggressively.

"No, not that. I mean recently. Stiles, something is different about you. You have to tell me what happened so I can help you."

He sighed.

"Look, somebody that I work with at the animal center is kind of… Odd. And I was recently warned by someone to stay away from that co-worker, because he was growing dangerous, but it's not like I can trust that someone, either."

"And you're worried that your co-worker might actually be dangerous?"

"I've been calling in sick for the past three days," Stiles confessed.

"Stiles, if I'm being honest, I can really see where you're coming from. If this guy was strange to begin with, it's not unlikely that he's become something more. Especially with those missing teenagers all over the news."

"It feels like you're going to say 'but'", he said, cringing.

"But, calling in sick is no way to deal with this. Talk to your supervisor about this guy. Maybe she can change your shifts or something. And if worst comes to worst, you can always quit, you know."

"Yeah, but… What if he really is dangerous?"

"Stiles, you sound genuinely concerned about this guy. You just told me a minute ago that you can't trust the person that warned you about him."

"Well, not completely, and I want to trust him. It's just that… Up until a few days ago, he was incredibly nice to me, even if he did have his weird days as well. Like, when I got bitten by one of the animals he drove me to the hospital and then bought me some dinner and stuff…"

"If I didn't know better, I'd have said that you like this guy," Morrell mused as she leaned back with her arms crossed and a satisfied look on her face at having found something with which to thoroughly entertain herself during what she thought was going to be just another workday.

"What? No!" Stiles nervously whined, very quickly. "He's at least twenty-five!"

"So? You're going to be eighteen next month."

"Really?" Stiles asked snidely. "You're promoting the relationship between a man almost a decade older than one of your teenage students? Really? You know, you're supposed to be looking out for us."

"Alright, alright, don't get all judgmental… I was just throwing a suggestion out there," she defended. "I just thought I picked up on some interest in your voice is all."

"It doesn't really matter if I'm interested," Stiles mumbled to himself and shifted in his chair in discomfort at having a conversation with someone by whom nothing went by unnoticed.

She raised an eyebrow at the remark, but Stiles ignored it.

"So, tell me more about your work," she suggested, and their conversation carried on. It was always easy in there, in that office. The words flowed carelessly and Stiles found himself losing track of time. He had asked Ms. Morrell to keep these meetings private –even from his father. She had agreed, and maybe that was what made things easier. Either way, once he set his foot over that threshold, he knew that only the jarring sound of a bell would be enough to drag him out –or maybe tears shed over his misery.

They spent a long time discussing his job. Stiles found it extremely frustrating to try and defend his case without giving away any names or details, because, why would he go telling on Derek or Andrew? They had done nothing wrong except behave like a serial killer and a wild animal. Stiles almost asked Morrell whether or not he should tell his father about the breaking and entering on the part of one Mr. Hale, but he decided to keep that rather interesting jewel to himself. There was no point in bringing more people into the absolute void of logic that was this animal center. Besides, it wasn't like Derek was going to try anything more after the way he had been kicked out.

Right?

The debate about Stiles' return to his place of employment stretched as long as possible before he realized that he really had no valid argument. Derek had indeed warned him, and that would be enough to trouble anybody, but there was really no solid proof that there was any danger involved anywhere. Morrell, at one point, quite coldly, pointed out that the only reason Stiles felt inclined to believe Derek's words unconditionally was that he found the man, simply put, hot. The backtracking Stiles performed at that accusation was of a professional level, but there was no lying to this woman.

"I'd like you to meet him and tell me you feel nothing," Stiles caught himself muttering bitterly under his breath.

All in all, even if that job was turning him into an emotional basket case, it was the only thing that seemed to cheer Stiles up. Just standing the beacon of happiness that was Holly was enough. He decided to return, because, why not?

After school, Stiles was half-glad to avoid human interactions until he got to his Jeep. It's not that he didn't appreciate the company of his friends –basically, Scott- but he wanted some time alone. Over his lunch, he was going to figure out what he was going to tell Holly in case something fishy happened with Andrew. Just in case.

Stiles hadn't seen Derek since that night three days ago, and he was secretly wishing that he didn't go in to work today. Somehow, encountering someone who had violated his personal space to the utmost extent, and probably broke a few laws in the process, didn't seem like the most exciting thing to do. But, however strongly he wished for Derek to not make an appearance, when he walked through that door, he saw that his wish had not been granted.

As soon as Derek caught sight of Stiles, the smile he had on his face disappeared. At least Stiles wasn't the only unhappy one to be seeing the other.

"Stiles, what are you doing here?" Derek whispered in a restrained manner, even though there was nobody around to hear.

"I work here," Stiles replied curtly and walked by Derek with his uniform in hand.

"You didn't show up the past three days," Derek stated unnecessarily. He followed Stiles and easily kept up with long strides. The boy barely acknowledged his existence long enough to reply.

"I was unwell," Stiles said before barging into the employee bathroom, where he usually changed into his work attire. Going home to change and going back into town didn't seem very convenient and he didn't see anything wrong with changing there. Holly certainly didn't, so, why not?

The bathroom was simply a single room, with a single sink and a single toilet. There weren't that many employees, so just the one bathroom was sufficient. The one bathroom that Derek followed Stiles into.

"What are you doing here?" Stiles asked.

"What?"

"Why are you in the bathroom with me?"

"I—I don't know. I was just following you, and you headed in here."

"I need to change."

"Stiles, I told you to keep away from Andrew!"

Stiles raised a sassy eyebrow at him. For someone who almost didn't have it in him to get out of bed in the mornings and face the world each time, Stiles was definitely ready to lash out at Derek.

"I'm about to start undressing, and let me remind you that I am still a minor. Do you really want to add that to the long list, which also includes breaking and entering into the Sherriff's home?"

Derek didn't even waste time to roll his eyes and grunt in frustration as he swung his arms and walked out. Stiles didn't need x-ray vision to know that Derek would be standing outside and waiting for Stiles to finish. He took his sweet time peeling off his clothes, and it never seized to amaze him just how skinny he managed to remain, considering the amount of junk food he consumed on a daily basis, when he looked at himself in the mirror.

"Oh. You're still here," he observed coldly, as he walked out of the bathroom and walked back to the reception, with Derek once more hard on his heels.

"Stiles, you're not listening to me! You can't be here," Derek hissed.

"Really?" Stiles said, in sarcastically exaggerated enthusiasm. He walked out of the center to put his personal clothes in the Jeep.

"Yes, really! I've already warned you about this, why did you come back? You weren't here the previous days!"

"Well, aren't we observant."

They crossed the street.

"Stiles, I'm not messing around with you so cut it off!"

Stiles shoved his clothes in the backseat, and started making his way back.

"I'm not messing around either."

"I'm not a little kid, Stiles, I know what the hell I'm talking about."

"Oh, come one. Andrew—" Stiles said, but Derek gripped his arm right before the entered the building.

"No, don't say his name," Derek whispered with his eyes wide.

"What, it's not like he's going to hear—"

"Stiles, you had better start thinking about what I'm telling you before you go and get yourself in some trouble that is going to make you wish you had listened to me from the first time," Derek said as fiercely as he could without raising his voice and as steadily as he could with Stiles attempting to jerk free.

He looked into Derek's eyes, and he saw fear. He saw concern and he saw panic.

"This is bigger than you know. Don't get caught up in this, you'll regret it."

"I—" Stiles started, but stopped and sighed. "Alright, well you can let me go, at least. It's not like I'm going to run away."

Derek dropped his arm.

"I'm sorry, I just had to get you to listen."

"I'm still not buying this you know. And why would I? Huh? Some person I've known for two weeks at best creeps into my home and tells me something, which, if we're being honest, I had already picked up on, and expects me to believe him."

"I know, I know," Derek pleaded, "but—"

"Hello, boys," a voice called from the door. They both turned to see Andrew standing there, leaning casually against the open door's frame.

"Hey, Andrew," Stiles said, glad to see that Andrew was in a good mood, and walked inside.

"Crap," Derek muttered.


	10. Preemptive Strike

(I'm very, very sorry about the delay in uploads and the sizes of the chapters, but exams are approaching and schoolwork is becoming more of a drag than usual.)

"What is this for you, by the way?" Andrew asked as he typed something on the reception desk's computer's keyboard.

"What's what?" Stiles asked, which he realized was not a very well pieced together question. Andrew had apparently realized what he was trying to say because, even though he threw Stiles a look as he leaned over the countertop, looking down at Andrew, he went on.

"I mean the job. Is this temporary for you? Are you going to be leaving soon?" he explained.

"I don't really know," Stiles said honestly. "I haven't thought about it, but I like it here, the pay's good and the hours are not messing with my schoolwork, so I don't really see any reason to stop working here."

"Really?" Andrew asked and looked up at Stiles again with a raised eyebrow. "What is it that you like here?" he went on and gave his full attention to Stiles now, staring him dead in the eye. Being completely caught off guard, the boy stumbled over his words.

"I—Err, I think… I really like animals, so working around them is really satisfying," he said awkwardly, drawing a small chuckle from Andrew.

"Well, if you like animals, you're going to love this…" Andrew said to himself and stood up. "Wait here!" he called over his shoulder, and walked out of the front door. At that moment, Holly walked into the reception.

"Who was that going out just now?" she asked.

"Andrew."

"What? Why? Where's he going?"

"I have no idea."

Holly sighed. If it had been any other person, she would have sat him down and given him a good talk about work ethics, but this was Andrew; even if she tried to reason with him, she was ever so lightly afraid of what she would find in that brain of his.

"Okay, then, I guess he's going to find his way back like last time… Why don't you get back to work?" she asked, and retreated to her office.

On the other hand, it wasn't as though Holly was that good at being a boss.

Stiles decided to follow Holly's advice, and got busy. He was glad that he was to spend most of his working hours out back, away from Lord of the Creeps, Mr. Derek Hale. After he had given Stiles such dire warnings about Andrew, who did not in fact appear to be any more dangerous than he usually did, Derek didn't seem all that concerned. As soon as Stiles had walked through the door, Derek had walked back out and taken off, which was entirely counterproductive if he was looking to protect Stiles, something that he was apparently not that interested in doing.

Not that it made that much of a difference. Stiles was alone. He was busy. He was finally intent on getting himself to deal with his feelings and emerge victorious on the other side; or at least, if not victorious, twisted from his emotions and sexily mysterious, with a dark sense of humor. Stiles would be able to pull that look off very successfully. He already had the dark hair and exceptionally skinny figure to go along with his self-loathing and depression for years and years to come.

It was never quite sure what it was that instilled this sense of self-loathing into his everyday life. It probably had something to do with his theory that he had already shared with Morrell about death happening to everybody else besides the person who was actually passing away. And that was the case with Stiles and his father. Ever since his mother had died, he had this constant nagging at the back of his head. It was a torment of a thought that refused to leave him alone.

Stiles was sure that his father usually wished, if not constantly, for his son to just be a little… different. Less high-maintenance, and less energetic. He had always known and felt that his father wished for something just a little easier to take care of than a teenage boy with a tendency of being entirely unbearable sometimes. Maybe that was it. Maybe this was the reason that Stiles felt so bad around his own birthday, which came right after the anniversary of the death of Mrs. Stilinski.

Right after the Sheriff had to spend his days suffering through earning closure about the loss of his beloved wife, every single year, Stiles' birthday peeked around the corner. He had to be strong for his son, not show any sign of crumbling down, especially when what was meant to be the happiest day of his life was approaching rapidly.

Maybe seeing his father forcing a fake-smile through an entire month and a half to keep him optimistic about his birthday was what made Stiles so woeful. Because it reminded him all the other ways that he was just another burden in the Sheriff's life.

One thing was for sure: this time, busying himself with work was not cutting it with Stiles' misery. Nothing seemed to be enough.

"Well, just what the heck is this?" Holly yelled as she and Stiles stood on the pavement outside the center, looking at Andrew pull up outside in his old truck. The engine revved loudly until he yanked the keys from the ignition and jumped out of the driver's seat. He ran to the back and Holly followed him. As soon as Stiles saw her examine the contents of the back of the truck and gasp, Stiles ran over to sneak a peek for himself.

Stiles couldn't help but stare. A huge mass of dark grey hair lay lifelessly, with several patches of freshly spilled blood staining the coat of the four-legged creature. Its mouth was slightly open, revealing sharp yet bloody teeth as it panted weakly and it held its eyes open with obvious effort.

"Andrew! Where did you find this animal?" Holly demanded.

"By the side of the road! A car must have hit it! My first thought was to bring it here, but I'm not sure if we can do anything for it!" he exclaimed. Holly was worried, but not panicking. Andrew on the other hand, was obviously faking his fluster, but Holly didn't notice anything in her state of mind. Neither did Stiles.

"Are you kidding me? Of course we can't do anything for it; this… animal is almost dead, whatever it is."

She stared at it for a few seconds while she thought. Any other person would have given up on the poor creature, but it wasn't in Holly's nature to neglect another life, human or not.

"There's an animal clinic a couple blocks over. Take it there now," she ordered him.

"What animal clinic? I don't know where that is," Andrew said with a confused look.

"I do, I'll go with you," Stiles suddenly piped up. Holly didn't exactly agree to letting both her employees run around town, helping random road kill, but she didn't exactly protest either, so both the boys got in the car and left in a huff. Andrew drove as smoothly as the speed would allow him, trying not to jerk the dying animal around too much. Stiles thought of Derek and how much of a fit he would throw if he'd heard that he was voluntarily getting in Andrew's car all alone.

"There," Stiles instructed and pointed to a narrow street off to the right. Andrew took the turn and quickly found the animal clinic. It was the one Scott worked at, and Stiles knew the place pretty well. He had driven Scott here of picked him up several times.

"Dr. Deaton!" Stiles called as he barged inside.

"Hello?" the veterinarian replied, as he emerged from a door with a folder in his hands and his glasses low on the bridge of his nose. He had a calm look upon his face despite Stiles' obvious worry.

"There's a really big… dog," Stiles sputtered, "and it's hurt. Really badly."

"Okay, then," Deaton replied, and retreated through the door he had come out through. Stiles waved his hands in exasperation, and almost screamed his name again –or something slightly more offensive, considering the almost narcissistic dismissal of the situation the boys were in on the vet's part. Andrew came up behind Stiles, but Deaton soon reappeared holding a filled syringe. He walked to the front door with long, purposeful strides, until he saw Andrew. He tossed him an icy look that even made Stiles flinch before continuing for the door.

He walked outside and rushed to the back of the truck. Stiles was glad to see some enthusiasm in him since they were practically trying to save a life.

"My, my…" Deaton remarked when he basked in the enormous presence of the creature. "This won't do at all…" he said to himself, referring to the syringe.

"Oh, really? And why is that?" Andrew asked snidely as both the boys took their places on either side of the vet.

"It seems like this animal is far too big for such a small dose of tranquilizer. However, in its current state of pain and fear, it would be entirely too stupid to try and move it inside without immobilizing it, unless we want to risk out limbs," Deaton explained, all the while looking at Andrew. Stiles was positive that something else was in the works.

"On the other hand, it could very well work like it normally does, just not for as long," he went on. "We just have to hope that he's going to be a good boy," Deaton enunciated, referring to the animal, and gave a very intense look at its almost lifeless eyes, as if it could understand him. Pinching the back of its neck, he stuck the needle in and emptied the contents of the syringe, almost drawing a whimper.

"Can you help him?" Stiles asked, genuinely worried.

Deaton didn't answer.


	11. Roadkill

"Well, boys, seems to me like your little wolf-like friend is going to make it, which, if I may say, is anything but little," Deaton said with an attempt at amusing small talk.

Both Stiles and Andrew were sitting on a couple of chairs in the waiting room. Stiles looked up with enthusiasm at Deaton, but Andrew didn't seem too surprised or thrilled with the fact that they had contributed to saving an animal's life.

"Really?" Stiles asked like a small child, who was being promised a trip to Disneyland.

"Yes. The injuries it sustained were very severe, but the healing process is moving along very quickly," he reassured him.

"My, my," Andrew droned. "I wonder why… I mean, it's almost like a Christmas miracle!"

Stiles looked at Andrew with an incredulous look, but he didn't have the energy or the attention span to deal with his silliness at the moment. It was already dark outside, and it was raining, as per usual. Saving that extraordinarily big wolf appeared to be the only good thing that came out of today. That, and only having to deal with Derek for a very limited time.

Which reminded Stiles of something.

"Dr. Deaton?"

"Mm?"

"I've never seen an animal this big. I mean, I'm not a professional or anything, but there's really not that many wolves here, and especially not that big—"

"Stiles," Deaton interrupted, uncharacteristically and inelegantly. "You have my professional opinion that this animal is one hundred per cent wolf, and it is well on its way to a full recovery. Now, since the biggest four-legged creature I can host here is a medium-sized dog, I suggest you take the poor soul back to the rehabilitation center. I really can't think of any place more fitting," the vet concluded with a reassuring nod. Stiles still seemed somewhat unconvinced, unlike Andrew who was practically giggling internally. Something with this whole situation was apparently extremely amusing.

"Okay," Stiles finally said. He knew he really didn't have any say in this. After all, he and Andrew were just the people doing all the manual work.

After managing to get the drowsy animal back into the back of the truck, and getting on the road, Stiles got a call from Holly.

"Stiles?"

"Yeah, it's me."

"Honey, what happened? It's been a long time."

"Yeah, I know. We were waiting for Deaton to finish with the wolf. We're coming back now."

"Did everything go well?"

"Yes, don't worry. We should be there in about five minutes."

"Are you bringing the animal here?"

"Yeah, Dr. Deaton said it's too big for him to keep in his clinic. It's probably doing pretty well too, if he let it go on the first night."

After they had hung up, Andrew turned to Stiles with a surprisingly perky expression.

"Why are you so happy? I'm exhausted," Stiles asked, slightly rudely.

"Why wouldn't I be? We got to spend the whole day out of work, and we helped save a medical miracle of a wolf. Did you see the size of that thing?" Andrew exclaimed enthusiastically.

"Yeah, I noticed how big it was when my feet almost collapsed while we were carrying it. Or him, or whatever."

Andrew smiled and nodded in that way people smile and nod when they finally remember an ancient event after vigorous attempts to recall the details, even if it had happened a few minutes ago.

"Anyway, I thought you like working at the center?" Stiles asked. If Andrew was being nice, might as well milk it.

"I do. I just didn't feel like being around Derek all the time."

Stiles raised his eyebrows. He was not expecting that.

"Oh? You don't like Derek?"

"Not really. Then again, you don't either."

"I—How do you even know that?" Stiles demanded. For a slight second, he wondered if he should be worried that his apparently bipolar co-worker read his emotions better than his best friend, but he knew better than to expect from Scott to pick up on details.

"Oh, come on it's obvious. What's weird though is that he actually cares about you," Andrew announced, wagging a finger.

"What?"

"Yup."

"No he doesn't. I mean, he's been kind of irrationally worried about me lately, but it's in a really stupid and aggressive way."

"Trust me, he likes you, and he doesn't want to see you get hurt."

Stiles sat in his seat for a little while, simply pondering this fact. If Andrew was indeed intuitive enough to pick up on emotions, and that was a big 'if', then Derek's panicked actions should really be worrying for Stiles. If someone that cares about his safety is going out of his way to warn him about something, then that something is serious. And that something also happened to be sitting right next to him, controlling the course of the car.

Stiles quickly dismissed the thought. Derek had been bending over backwards to tell Stiles to stay away from Andrew, and Stiles could see it in his eyes that he wasn't lying. He just didn't want to believe the man because he was so stubborn. Why should it make any difference if Andrew assured him of Derek's intentions?

"So, are you doing anything tomorrow?" Andrew suddenly asked. They still had a few minutes until they reached the center, and he didn't seem willing to let them be filled with awkward silence.

"Uh—No, not that I know of. Why, what's so special about tomorrow?" Stiles asked with narrowed eyes. He was really hoping that Andrew wouldn't ask him to hang out.

"Well, it's Friday tomorrow!"

Stiles' blank expression didn't share Andrew's exaggerated enthusiasm.

"Isn't it your birthday on Friday?"

"No, that's next Friday," Stiles said with a fake smile. That just came on automatically now.

"Ah. So are you having a party?"

"Not really. I'm not the big party type, you know? I mean, I'm not even sure if I'm going to hand out with my best friend."

Andrew interestingly left it at that. It was only another minute until they reached the center anyway.

Once there, Stiles realized that it was still open well after its regular closing hours, and that nobody was in but Holly –as per usual. He thought he was going to have to endure the torturous task of carrying the animal to the cage, but after Holly spent about five minutes trying to persuade the wolf to pick itself up and jump down from the back of the truck on its own, using nothing but ridiculous baby talk, and surprisingly succeeded, he slowly walked by it as they guided it to its pre-designated cage. Apparently Holly had a whole set-up almost prepared for it.

Andrew and Holly went off to finish up on preparing its new place of accommodation, while Stiles was given the mundane task of escorting the wobbly creature while opening doors for it and showing it the correct way. He wasn't certain that being left alone with a mountain of a wolf that had just been drugged up and had its inhibitions lowered was the safest thing to do, but worry was the usual emotion he felt while in the building, among others –like confusion and carelessness.

Soon enough, they had crossed the screen door and were out in the back, where Stiles could see Andrew and Holly had prepared a cage relatively close by, which was probably on purpose to spare the wolf of some walking distance. After it had went over the threshold, and Stiles closed the door, it looked back and almost nodded at him, as if to thank him for the courtesy of holding the door open.

"In you go, dear," Holly said with a tired smile. The wolf followed her instruction and dragged its feet into the cage. What would normally a defensive wild animal, scared of humans, seemed to be too tired to even care about worrying. It was almost as if it had spent its entire life around humans.

Holly closed the door and turned to the boys. "Well, there's not much we can do, obviously. We'll let this big boy rest through the night, and we'll check on him tomorrow. Thank you both for being such a massive help!"

They all said their thank yous and their goodnights before they left, and Andrew stayed behind to finish up on something with Holly, but Stiles was given the permission to go home, which he took gladly. It was almost nine o'clock, and his father had surprisingly not blown up his phone. Whenever Stiles was obviously going through something, his dad chose to give him some space. It wasn't the best approach if Stiles were to be the objective judge of things, but he did appreciate feeling alone with his thoughts.

He crossed the road, got in the Jeep and started heading home. He loved driving. Being a very easily distracted boy, being on the road meant he had to devote all of his attention to the steering and accelerating of his vehicle. His mind was completely void of anything else, whatever that may be. It was like the way people feel after watching a scary movie, or those few seconds after they wake up before everything sets in, where there is no other thought in your brain.

Today was a long day. The longest Thursday of his life. Considering everything that had happened in the last hours, he felt he was entitled to a long drive around the city under the streetlights and their hypnotizing hue of yellow-orange, but his father was still alone at home. That is if he wasn't slaving at the station over evidence and files and papers concerning the recent disappearing teenagers.

He quickly decided to head for home. Besides, he had to make sure his father was chowing down the fast food burgers.

In a short ten minutes, he had arrived.

"Hey, Dad," he sighed, when he dragged himself inside and saw his father sitting in the dark watching television, before he turned on the lights for him.

"Hi, Stiles. Anything interesting happen at work today?" the Sheriff asked, eyeing his son. Stiles was home a couple of hours late, and looking like a mess. 'Interesting' might be a good word to start with.

"Well, this guy, Andrew, he also works at the center," Stiles began explaining as he walked into the kitchen to get himself a drink of water. The further away he was, the louder he talked.

"He suddenly took off in the middle of the day and showed up, maybe an hour later with this huge wolf in the back of his truck, and it was hurt really badly," he said as he plopped down next to his dad. "My boss saw it and sent us to that clinic Scott works at, and we had to wait there until the vet patched the poor thing up. Then we drove it back to the center and put him in a cage."

"A wolf? Here?"

"Yeah, that's what I thought at first. And this thing is huge, too, not like a regular wolf. I would have been really scared of it if it weren't pumped full of tranquilizers."

His father looked genuinely surprised by the description, until his face was suddenly deeply thoughtful.

"So, was this thing big enough to take down a man? You know, kill him?" he asked.

"Dad, that's a really weird question," was Stiles' reply. It really was.

"Yeah, I know," he said, and shook his head, dismissing the idea he had conjured up only a second ago, and switched his attention back to the game. Stiles stood up, and was about to head to the kitchen to make dinner, until he realized something and froze on the spot.

"It was big enough to grab an unsuspecting teenager and drag them into its lair deep in the woods, if that's what you're thinking," he said accusingly with eyebrows raised high up. His father stared at him until he could think of something with which to reply.

"You know, Stiles, most kids your age wouldn't even be able to piece something like that together. I'm proud of you."

"Your dinner is going to be extra healthy tonight because you're trying to flatter me. You really thought I didn't know I'm smarter than half the kids my age?"

He left his dad chuckling on the couch as he headed into the kitchen with a satisfied grin. Maybe a few fries wouldn't kill him.


	12. All About Size

"How big is it though?" Allison, asked, intrigued. She sat forward in her chair with a glimmer in her eye. Scott next to her seemed to be very amused by the conversation, so much so that he had set down his fork, something very unusual for him. Usually lunch time at the school was the time for him to wolf down as much food as possible, unlike Jackson and Lydia that looked down upon the cooking standards of the school's cafeteria while they talked between themselves –that was how interesting they found the others' conversation.

"Big," said Stiles with raised eyebrows and vigorous nodding. "Big enough to notice the first second you see it."

"Did it hurt you?" Scott piped up.

"No, I was holding its back the whole time," he explained. Stiles felt good now that someone actually appeared genuinely interested in him and what he had to say, asking him questions.

"What, you just held it like that? Weren't you protected in some way?" Allison demanded. Her face suggested that she had just questioned something preposterous.

"No, there was no need."

"So, what did you do with it after?"

"By the way, guys," Jackson interrupted. "Out of context, it sounds like you're talking about a really big dick."

Allison choked on her drink as Scott thought about it for a few seconds before he started giggling with Stiles. Because Stiles giggled now.

"I meant the wolf, what happened to him?" Allison asked after there was no more sparkling water in her nasal cavity.

"We put him in a cage and left him there to recover from his wounds and the drugs. I haven't been there since Friday night, but my boss said she checked up on him twice a day since then. Anyway, today's Monday so I'll get to see him," Stiles said with a remnant of a smirk. Allison appeared to be slightly worried about the creature, but Stiles was just excited. He really appreciated the fact that it hadn't whipped its head around in its drugged state and bitten him on the leg. It was as if they had bonded on an unfathomable level.

"I don't know why I'm so excited," he went on. "Probably because I might be involved in the discovery of a whole new species of wolf. You guys cannot even imagine how unique—"

"Oh, please. It's just a big, shaggy animal. What's the big deal?" Jackson interrupted again.

"The big deal is that it's even bigger than your ego," Stiles snapped back. "Okay? I've looked this up, this is a first time thing."

Jackson pulled a face, but left it at that.

Stiles could not drive to the animal center fast enough. It was a wonder that cat had survived the unstoppable force that was the Jeep. Making record time, Stiles skidded into the parking lot and turned off the engine. He didn't even bother with taking his uniform inside: he changed in his car, albeit very clumsily. After banging his head into the roof while attempting to change his trousers without standing up, he got out of the car, locked it and jogged to the other side of the street. Rushing inside, he was welcomed by nobody and thus wasted no time in getting to the cage of the wolf.

Once he had located it, he put his hands on the fence and peered inside with a gleeful smile, like a small child standing at the stairway and holding the railing while admiring all the Christmas presents with jubilance.

The creature was curled up on the ground and fast asleep. Surprisingly, there was no evidence that it had ever been hurt in any way.

"Calm down, Stiles, you look like you're a little kid in a zoo!" Andrew said, popping up out of nowhere, like always.

"Hey," he replied absentmindedly. Andrew doubted he even registered who he was talking to.

"He hasn't been sleeping since Friday, right?" Stiles demanded with a sudden sense of concern.

"No," Andrew chuckled. "He's just napping is all. He's been fed, bathed and played with many times now."

Stiles gave a snort and looked back at the animal.

"A friendly wolf… Maybe the little red riding hood was the evil one."

"Yeah… Maybe she conspired with the grandma against the big bad wolf," Andrew joked and put his hand on Stiles' shoulder as he stood next to him. The boy froze as soon as he felt it and his eyes shot towards the horizon, open wide. If there had been a moment that day when he hadn't been obsessing over the wolf, that was it. His mind was busy screaming with possibilities of follow-up actions Andrew could take. Maybe next he was going to lean in for a hug, or say something loving and caring. One thing was for sure: this was a side of Andrew Stiles had never seen before, and he had seen many of them. They ranged from neurotic to cheerful to depressed to just plain blank.

But the boundary of personal space had never, ever been broken before.

"Well, I'm going to hop inside for a second," Andrew announced excitedly and walked off right after he gave Stiles' shoulder a light squeeze. Stiles watched him walk off, transfixed, like he usually did. The man might be a freak but he was a damn good-looking freak, and a little peeking never hurt anybody.

Stiles shook his head to fling any thought he was having about Andrew out of his ears. He switched his attention to the wolf, which to his surprise, was standing up.

"Whoa," Stiles exclaimed. Now that he could fully see how big it was, standing up straight on all four feet in broad daylight, he could understand why people were naturally scared of wolves. It radiated power and intimidation, and Stiles was under its fully effect. However, at the same time he felt a sense of awe and admiration at the sheer strength behind single stare from its blood-red eyes. The wolf took a few steps, slowly and gracefully, nearing Stiles. He stood frozen to the ground, forgetting that he was the one on the outside of the cage and that he was free to run away when he wanted to.

As soon as it reached the fence it flicked its nose towards Stiles and its nostrils flared when it caught whiff of the boy's scent. Their eyes were locked on each other's, as if they were a couple of cowboys having a staredown. The wolf made a soft whining noise, to let Stiles know that he wasn't about to start barking at him and chase him around the lot at the first opportunity. He finally let the breath he had been holding out, and half-smiled nervously. He extended a hand towards the fence for the wolf to smell and possibly bite off.

To Stiles' utter shock, the wolf lovingly licked his hand.

"He's really something, isn't he? It's a damn god thing you boys managed to get him to the clinic fast enough," said Holly. Everyone seemed to love popping up behind Stiles while he was preoccupied with something.

"He's… Unbelievable!" he almost shouted. He still hadn't gotten his wild breathing under control.

"He's also much better!" Holly aptly provided. It was obvious that the animal was well on its way to a full recovery, if it hadn't already got there.

"How has he healed so quickly? There's not a scratch on him…" Stiles noticed finally.

"Yeah, I know. I called Alan regularly through the weekend because he asked me to, and I told him that he seemed all better even after the first night, but he told me it was necessary to keep him in the center until further notice from himself…" Holly explained. Her voice showed that she didn't exactly agree with Deaton's decision, but she wasn't exactly itching to kick the wolf out.

"Did you ask him about wolves being here? You know, in Beacon Hills? Especially this big?" Stiles asked while gesturing to the occupant of the cage who had sat down and was looking back and forth from Holly to Stiles as if he could understand the conversation.

"Yeah, I did actually… He told me that it was unusual, but not impossible for a wolf to appear around here… As for the size, I really didn't ask him," Holly said thoughtfully.

"But Mrs. Hodac, this is a huge animal! Abnormally large! How could you—"

"Well, hello boys and girls," Andrew greeted merrily as he walked around the corner. Perfect timing, as always.

"Evening, Andrew," Holly replied. "I'll tell you what, why don't you boys finish up your usual routine and then you both come up to my office and we'll figure out how you're gonna separate the jobs for our newest visitor."

"Sounds good," Andrew reassured her before Stiles could say anything else. She patted him on the back and disappeared in the distance.

"So, should we start with the birds?" Andrew suggested lightheartedly.

"Yeah, I'm walking through my front door right now, I'll call you back later," Stiles informed Scott and hung up without really waiting for a reply. Between trying to keep his schoolbag from slipping off his shoulder and landing in the dirt while trying to unlock the door and holding his change of clothes in the other hand, there wasn't much room for a casual conversation. However, in all honesty, there was no casualness in the way Scott was vigorously trying to persuade Stiles to go out on the night of his birthday that Friday.

"Hey, dad," Stiles grunted after he had shoved his butt into the door to close it. He stomped his way up the stairs and into his bedroom, where he dumped everything on his bed. The mattress springs groaned against the burden so Stiles immediately picked up the clothes and threw them in his hamper to relieve his furniture of some of the weight. He also flung his bag at one of the darkest reaches of his room, where he couldn't see it and would not be stressed by the reminder of the homework he had yet to do.

He sat heavily on his bed and pulled off his shoes without untying them and let them clunk to the floor. He rubbed his eyes while he thought about everything he had done today that had drained him of all his energy. He had got up after some serious debating about whether or not school was really worth depriving himself of sleep, and sat through the most boring 'How Drugs Can Affect You And Your Family And Friends' filmstrip mankind had ever witnessed. After school he had some takeaway from the Chipotle opposite the diner, and went to work. There he saw the wolf for the first time since Friday night, which was still without a name, as well as Andrew and Holly and Derek…

There was no Derek today. Not that Stiles cared, but still. He wasn't on best terms with the guy, but he usually knew when Derek wasn't going to show up to work. He made a huge deal of it every time the day before to Holly, and she brushed him off every single time. She had learned to expect it by now, every time she saw Derek approach her with his little puppy dog look. She'd told Stiles that Derek always asked for a day off each month when they'd found themselves alone for a little bit; Holly was a relentless gossip, and a very lenient boss. Stiles wondered if she talked about him to the other employees. At least she didn't trash talk the morning shift, too.

"Stiles, you want some dinner?" the Sheriff called from downstairs.

"Yeah!" Stiles gladly replied and ran down the stairs. He sat with his father at the table and ate gleefully. It had been a long time since his father had taken the initiative to cook something actually healthy without Stiles' constant nagging, for example, grilled vegetables. They were as bland as anything could be, but Stile kept telling his father that it was the thought that counted. And that they had a full saltshaker to get them through dinner.

"Dad?" Stiles asked with narrowed eyes. This either meant that he was preparing to say or ask something that would get him into trouble, or that he was about to call his dad out on something he did.

"Yes?" was the careful reply.

"Would you mind if I went out with some friends on Friday night? I mean, we can have dinner together if you want, it's just that Scott and Allison and maybe some other people want to go out and it's my birthday… But nothing crazy, not like a club or anything—"

"Stiles, you can go. It's your eighteenth birthday for God's sake. Have some fun."

Stiles was glad that they had both finished their dinner, because there was no way he could stomach down another bite.

"Oh, okay. Thanks!" he replied enthusiastically when he realized what had just happened.

"Don't thank me Stiles, you're a grown man now," his father said and got up to walk into the kitchen. He left the door open behind him because he kept on talking and he wanted Stiles to hear him. "You got a job, you got a car, you got your friends and you got good grades… Soon enough you'll be going off to college, too."

Stiles was about to interrupt him because he thought the Sheriff was trying to say that he was going to be left all alone in Beacon Hills when his son went off to study, and Stiles wasn't stupid. He had thought about that before, and it broke his heart to do that to his own father, and that was the exact reason he was about to interrupt. But his dad had walked back into the dining room with two beers. He set one in front of Stiles and took his seat back at the head of the table.

"I'm proud of you son."


	13. Talking

Stiles grunted as he finally twisted the lock of the cage into place and secured the door. That particular lock always gave him trouble; he'd have to remember to tell Holly about it.

This was his favorite part of the workday: he was finished with giving the animals food and medication, and cleaning out any of the cages which needed cleaning. Thankfully, it had been Andrew's turn to complete the cleaning part of the job description that day, just like it was every Wednesday and Friday. But this Wednesday was unlike any other. This time, he got to play with his new friend.

"Hey, buddy," Stiles gleefully exclaimed as he walked up to the cage the big wolf was in. It wagged its tail like a little dog whose master finally walked through the door. But, unlike what a dog would do, the wolf did not jump up against Stiles' front since it would have knocked him over and landed on him, crushing the air out of his lungs in the process.

He walked inside and closed the door behind him. He had spent the god part of two hours the day before in that cage, feeding, grooming and playing with the little creature which was nothing but little. The time they had spent together was enough for Stiles to realize that the animal was completely harmless. It even appeared to be more caring and friendly than most the aggressively popular people at Stiles' school.

"How are you doing?" he went on, as if he was expecting an answer, and took a seat near the edge so he could lean against the fence. The wolf came over and sniffed him while it caringly poked his chest with its nose.

"That tickles," Stiles giggled, and grabbed its face, scratching behind its ears. It gave him a big lick on his face in return. The boy yelped and looked at the animal straight into its eyes. Their red color had always interested him: glowing red eyes was not something you came across very often in life, even on animals.

After a few minutes, it curled up next to him and laid its heavy head down on Stiles' thigh, and he patted its head.

"What's the matter? Are you feeling alright? You were really energetic yesterday…" Stiles asked, slightly worriedly. It was true; if there had been a moment when Stiles had truly and completely felt physical fatigue, it was after playing with this wolf for an hour and a half. It seemed to be full of energy when Stiles was around, and that was saying something, because when anybody else came around it just looked bored.

Except maybe when Andrew came close to the fence. That was the only point in the entire time the wolf had been staying at the center when it appeared agitated, or even dangerous. Stiles had been in the cage when Andrew stood at the door. The wolf bore its teeth and growled at the door, at which point Stiles took the initiative to flatten himself against the opposite fence, as far away from all the fangs and the barks as possible.

However, after that whole incident was over, Stiles' heart was almost beating out of his chest, and his slight whimpers caught the attention of the wild animal. It turned around to see how scared it was making Stiles and bowed its head down while it walked over to him. It whined and pawed at his shoes, as if to apologize for scaring him.

"You know, we've only known each other for a couple of days," Stiles began as he absentmindedly petted him, "but sometimes I think you can really tell what's going on. I mean, you know when I'm scared, or sad, and you can even tell that Andrew is kind of a weirdo…"

Immediately after saying that Stiles looked over his shoulder in case Andrew was doing one of his usual "stand behind you and listen to everything you say until I can pipe up at the most dramatic moment" poses. Thankfully, he wasn't.

"And you like Holly too, because… She's a little hard not to like," Stiles lightly chuckled to himself. "Obviously, you love me, since… Well, who doesn't?" he joked. He almost had a thought about how sad he might have looked to someone, joking with a wolf. Almost.

"You haven't really met Derek, though, have you? Well, you're not really missing out on much, anyway. He's one of the biggest creeps I've ever met –even worse than Andrew. At least he never broke into my house," Stiles admitted and pause thoughtfully. "Maybe I should tell my dad about that…"

"Either way," he continued, brushing off the notion as quickly as he had conjured it, "you seem to have perfect timing, showing up here as soon as he was gone—"

Stiles was interrupted as soon as the wolf had started pawing at him and whining once again.

"What? You think I'm wrong? Trust me you haven't me this guy."

That was how Stiles spent the rest of his shift. He had always seen people talk to animals in movies all the time, but he never saw the appeal in it. He just thought it made people look pathetic and lonely. Now that he had an animal who would listen, he poured his heart out.

Like the previous day, he talked and rambled and didn't stop at anything. Nothing seemed to be off limits, because he was talking to a wolf. He wasn't going to be judged, laughed at or scolded for saying anything. Even confessing his deepest worried didn't prove to be difficult at all, because it was like talking to a brick wall. Similar to talking to Morrell, only after a few conversations the wolf wouldn't try and get Stiles to move on with his life.

Eventually, he ended up talking about Scott, and how he wanted to take Stiles out on Friday. How happy it would make Stiles if it were just a quiet night with some friends, even if Jackson and Lydia came along, since by this point Allison was a given.

"You know, I never thought I'd ever wish that I didn't have to see Lydia on my birthday. I'd always thought that my eighteenth birthday was going to be a huge deal, and that by now I'd have my shit together. Maybe by now I'd even have told Lydia how I felt about her.

"I guess I missed my chance," Stiles mumbled with a sad smile. "Not because she's with Jackson, but I got over all of that. Just over… her."

He looked right into the blood-red eyes of the wolf. On a human, they might have appeared sympathetic. But, on an animal, Stiles didn't think it was possible for them to show any kind of feeling besides hungry or happy.

"How the hell could I have thought that I would be okay with celebrating my birthday within just two years?" Stiles asked himself and rested his head on the fence.

And that was how that really big, sweet ball of fur was the first soul in his place of work to ever know about Stiles' mother. It really didn't take much for him to get going, practically say everything there was to say. He stopped every few sentences to check over his shoulder, but somehow, there was still no Andrew.

So, he didn't stop. He told the animal what had happened around two years ago, and how tremendously devastating his birthday had been. How the birthdays following that one had not been any better, disappointingly. He talked about the panic attacks, the depression, the tears, the guilt and that horrendous fight Stiles had got in last year with his father that tore both of them apart.

Since his mother's death, he'd been acting stoically adamant about keeping confident, especially around his father. The sheriff had always known that his son had been crushed, maybe even more than himself. Had it not been for that fight though, he would have never imagined that an extremely unlucky 16-year-old teenager –or anybody, for that matter- was capable of feeling such grief and pain at any moment.

He was surprised his son hadn't done something to himself after he realized what a dark and twisted place the boy's head was.

"Well, I'm off duty for today," Stiles said as he checked his watch. There were no tears clouding his vision this time. Talking about his mother got easier every time; but it was never actually easy. Just less… heart-wrenching.

"Are you going to miss me until tomorrow?" he asked and scratched the creature behind its ears. It made a noise and Stiles wondered if it was meant to be reassurance that what he was doing felt good or a reply to his question. Then he remembered that it couldn't understand him; although it did always grunt in all the appropriate places.

Stiles got up and opened the cage door.

"Love you buddy," he said and leaned over to plant a big kiss on top of its head. He closed the door and walked briskly through the path formed by the cages, through the actual building and across the road to his car, managing to run into nobody. He felt slightly disappointed that his day had been so void of life, bar the occupants of all the cages, and he almost felt lonely too. Had he looked over his shoulder as he was walking towards the center, however, he would have seen the wolf scratching the door, begging to tag along. Maybe then he wouldn't have felt so uncared for.

Stiles turned into his street, hoping that he was going to be able to get a long, hot shower as soon as he got home, stuff himself full of food he would probably have to help his dad cook and slip into a deep stupor. Maybe not even check his homework, and get some extra sleep in; wake up feeling rather refreshed.

But when he pulled up outside his house and saw Allison's car parked outside, he knew that wasn't really a possibility.

"Hi, kids," Stiles greeted apprehensively as he walked through the door and he saw Allison and the Sheriff sitting next to each other but facing each other on the couch, like a couple of schoolgirls gossiping.

"Hey, Stiles," his father responded.

"Hi," said Allison as she waved.

"Did we, uh—" Stiles began forming a question as he pointed to himself and then to Allison, repeatedly, while making an obviously fake confused face. "Did we arrange something for tonight?"

"No, actually, this is more of a surprise visit," she explained herself with a chirp in her tone. Stiles knew he was annoyed at her dropping by like this, and he knew she was probably going to ignore him as far as his dad was within earshot.

"I was coming over to see you, but your dad said you weren't home yet. I was going to give you a call but he invited me inside," she explained.

"Oh, did he?" Stiles asked dramatically.

"Yeah, I thought it'd be fun if we had some company for dinner. You're always talking about how I need to make some new friends," his father rambled on as he walked into the kitchen to grab whatever he had prepared for dinner. For an experienced enforcer of the law, he was pretty oblivious to his son's tone.

"So, you're staying for dinner?" Stiles asked Allison as soon as he got a chance.

"Stiles, I promise, you have to listen to me, you really want to know this. I just came in because he invited me in, like fifty billion times!"

"Who's hungry?" Mr. Stilinski boomed as he came in through the kitchen door and set a big plate on the dining room table.

"Thank you for dinner, Mr. Stilinski, it was really great but I have to get going now. It's kind of late and my parents are going to start calling me," Allison confessed in a fake girly voice while she squirmed in her seat. Stiles didn't blame her. The boy had done everything in his power to speed things along at all costs. Not only was he curious about what she had to tell him that was so important, she would sit through a Stilinski dinner, but the sooner he was done with this, the sooner he could go to sleep.

Allison ducked, rolled and jumped away from all and any offers Stiles' father made for her to stay for some dessert. She had fake-smiled her way through half an hour's worth of small talk before Stiles had arrived and an entire dinner. Yet another awkward course did not sound like something she could handle without snapping.

"I'm sure, honest! I'm not really a dessert kind of girl either way," Allison said as she slowly back away towards the door. She had already helped with getting the dishes to the sink, but that was all her manner could get her to do before being overpowered by an overwhelming desire to run.

She bid them both goodnight and walked out the front door, but not before asking Stiles to join her for a few minutes.

"What the hell?" Stiles demanded with a raised eyebrow.

"Look, I would have texted you to warn you but it was just me and him in the room! I couldn't just ignore him and start playing with my phone! Besides, he'd notice that I was talking to you, he's the Sheriff, you know," she pleaded.

"Well, I wouldn't be so sure about that last part… What are you doing here anyway?"

"I have to tell you something about Scott."

Stiles was immediately worried.

"Why? What's wrong? Is he okay? What—"

"Stiles, relax!" she commanded him and hit him over the head. "He's worrying about you. And I mean a lot."

He didn't reply. He just furrowed his brow.

"You know how he wants to help everyone, all the time, but he doesn't really know how?" Allison asked.

"Yeah, sure," Stiles casually replied.

"Well, he feels really bad about not talking to you. He knows that you're going through a rough time, and he wants to help you, but he feels like there's nothing he can do to make you feel better. He's even complaining that this job you got is taking up all your day and you can't even talk to him anymore. He's really worried about losing you Stiles."

Stiles just stared ahead. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. After he had told Scott repeatedly that he was completely fine -which, okay might have been a white lie, because he wasn't one hundred percent fine, but he was doing pretty well- and agreeing to let him plan his entire birthday night, he still thought Stiles was in dire need of help and support?

"He does know that I'm getting over all of that, right? He knows that this job really makes me feel good about myself?"

"I do, and I tired to explain that to him, but he keeps saying that I don't know you like he does, and that you're probably faking it. Somehow he's positive that without some immediate assistance you're going to damaged beyond repair. And he actually said that," she nodded emphatically. In a different context, Stiles would be laughing at this whole situation. Instead he just shook his head.

"Oh, crap, Scott… He needs therapy more than I do, sometimes…"

"Yeah, I know," Allison said thoughtfully.

"Well, sucks for you, you're dating him."

"I see you got your bitchy sense of humor back."

"I see you're still on my property."

They both giggled. Stiles missed this, he missed Allison. It wasn't like when he was hanging out with Scott, when it had gotten so easy and so familiar that he didn't even have to think about making a joke. Sure, feeling so close to someone they're practically your brother can be comforting, but Stiles' brain was a rich one. He wanted to be challenged every now and then. And since Lydia didn't seem to be willing to reciprocate, Allison was a perfect match for Stiles. Smart, witty and funny.

"Why are you here, anyway? Couldn't you have just called me, or something?" Stiles asked. "I mean, thanks for the effort, you know, good hustle but a phone call wouldn't have been that different."

"Yeah, I know, in retrospect, I think a phone call would have been much, much better."

"My dad tends to get very excited when we have guests," Stiles tried to explain.

"I understand, I have a crazy aunt," Allison provided. Because, who doesn't have a quirky relative? "I didn't really think about it, I just got into my car and drove over here as fast as I could. I was actually on the phone with Scott and I couldn't deal with how absurd the things he was saying sounded, so I had to make sure you talked to him."

"Good call."

Allison rolled her eyes and sighed. "And now that my mission is accomplished, you should go back inside."

"Thanks for stopping by," he replied. "I—it was interesting."

Allison giggled as she opened her car door, but before she stepped inside, she got really serious.

"Stiles?"

"Yeah?"

"You know that, if you don't want to worry Scott or anything, you can tell me anything you want, right?"

Stiles looked at her for a few seconds before answering. How the hell did he end up with friends like these? Scott was lucky to be with her.

"I do, thanks."

He waved goodbye and stepped back inside, only to find a pile of dishes waiting for him. It was almost as if the universe didn't want him to get a good night's sleep.


	14. Promotion

The next day Stiles got up dreading life. Fortunately, it wasn't that sort of dread that made him wish he could just fall asleep and wake up never. It was just the regular kind of dread every teenager felt when they were posed with the biggest challenge of their adolescent years: school.

It wasn't that he completely hated the concept of it. Sure, he acquired some little piece of knowledge every day, but it was practically useless anywhere outside a classroom. He got to see all of his friends, although he could see them during the afternoon as well, and have a much better time on top of that. At least his bullies had been suspended for assaulting Stiles –and he had a strong suspicion that it was Scott who turned them in- but he would never have been in danger of them if they had never met at school.

Scratch that. He hated school.

Of course, today was a particularly difficult day. During lunch he was planning on talking to Scott about what Allison had told him the night before. Stiles hoped that it would be a fairly simple explanation of the current situation on his part, and an avid performance of silent listening on Scott's end. But things never really went that smoothly in Stiles' life. Exhibit A: his job.

Having already considered the extreme case of everything going perfectly well, Stiles had also considered the possible scenario of everything going terribly. Because, honestly, it was very possible. Knowing how stubborn Scott could become, though, Stiles decided to keep that thought at bay until it was absolutely necessary.

After he was done dragging his feet everywhere, washing up, having breakfast, dressing up, he opened the front door and played with the car keys in his hand. It was Thursday, and the weekend was just a little too far out of reach.

"Here I go," he sighed.

Stiles looked around the school cafeteria while he held his tray and strolled about aimlessly, looking for his friends. They weren't at their usual table.

He was really loathing having this conversation with Scott, but he had to. Allison had sent him plenty of text messages to remind him. Apparently, Scott's worry was ruining their romantic life, and Allison was borderline graphic. Knowing all the details of the things that between those two was something Stiles could live without.

"Hey, guys," he greeted as he finally found them and set his tray down. Only Scott and Allison bothered to reply, and Danny looked up and smiled. Jackson and Lydia seemed to be too interested in their own conversation to acknowledge his existence.

Allison, on the other hand, appeared ecstatic to see Stiles. As soon as the two had locked stares, she started nodding suggestively non-stop. It was a good thing that Scott was the one she was referring to, because his food was far to entertaining for him to notice her frantic movements.

After taking a few big gulps of water, and wishing it was something stronger, Stiles built up some humility or courage or both and drew a breath.

"Scott?"

His friend looked up with eager eyes.

"Yeah?" said Scott through a mouthful of just a little bit of everything.

"Could I talk to you for just a second?" A pause. "In private?"

Stiles found it tremendously, painfully frustrating that everyone averted their attention towards the pair, because he was one of those people that could tell when he was being watched.

"Uh, sure," Scott replied sheepishly.

"Look," Stiles finally began after they had sat down at one of the benches outside. There was less chance of someone overhearing them. "I know that you're worrying about me, and I've got to tell you that you don't need to do that. I'm really fine. If something was wrong, wouldn't I tell you?" he said after a great struggle.

Scott's eyes went wider than Stiles had ever seen them.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Stiles couldn't help but chuckling a little bit.

"Scott, I know for a fact that you want to help me, and I appreciate that, but I don't need help. You don't have to worry your pretty little head with me," he rephrased and tapped Scott's temple.

"Stiles, who told you?"

"Does it matter?"

"It was Allison, wasn't it? Damn it, I am never letting her put makeup on me ever again!"

"What?"

There was a silence. It was awkward.

"Stiles, I'm still scared that you're not telling me how shitty you feel," Scott announced. Talking about their feelings was apparently less torturous than that silence. "Just like before, you think you can keep it all inside and hide it under the rug, but it doesn't work like that. People don't just get better out of nowhere. It usually takes you more than a month to get over all of this, and suddenly, in a few weeks you're back to your old self? Something is really weird."

Stiles shut his eyes in order to calm himself. He tried not to hit Scott over the head, and he barely succeeded.

"Scott, nothing terrible is happening to me. I'm not doing drugs, I'm not taking antidepressants or anything else you might have thought of. And by the way, I feel good with myself, you should be happy for me!"

"I am, but it's weird! You usually look like hell this time of year."

"You mean around the time my mom died?"

Yet another silence. This was summing up to be an awkward day overall.

"Stiles…"

"No, Scott, I'm not some puppy dog who's about to crumble into pieces! I'm sick and tired of people tiptoeing around me because they're afraid of saying the wrong thing and upsetting me! It's been two years since it happened, and I'm finally starting to cope with it. I'm getting into a routine with this job, and things are getting easier as time goes by, so will you please just stop acting like I'm an emotional breakdown on feet and go feel up your girlfriend!"

That last part came out a little bit too loudly.

"But I'm not—Wait, what?"

"She's been driving me nuts all through the night about you not really paying her any attention because you're too damn caught up in forming a plan to save me from the emotional edge I'm supposedly on!"

Scott proceeded to violently laugh until was in stitches.

"Scott, it's not funny! I've heard some things nobody should ever be made to hear!"

Stiles was just a faint background noise to Scott by now.

"Whatever, are we done with this conversation?" Stiles asked as he stood over Scott with his bag over his shoulder.

"You have to admit, she knows how to get what she wants," Scott wheezed.

"Scott, I'm serious! Are you going to stop worrying about me?"

"Yeah, yeah…"

"Good," Stiles declared and stormed off. He thought for a second about turning around and instructing Scott to keep all of the proceedings on Friday night fairly simple, but he knew there was no way of convincing him. As he walked through the main entrance and into the school, he saw Allison leaning against a locker.

"Did you do it?" she asked eagerly.

Stiles almost flipped her off. He loved his friends, but sometimes they drove him nuts.

Stiles turned around, but he didn't see anyone. He was sure he'd heard someone call his name.

"Stiles! Up here!"

Stiles looked up and saw Holly waving at him from the window of her office overlooking the cages, yelling as loudly as she could.

"Mrs. Hodac?" Stiles asked in bewilderment. She was practically hanging out of the window.

"Stiles, dear, could I see you in my office for a second?"

"Sure," he said, but he was pretty sure she hadn't managed to hear that. He raced upstairs as quickly as he could, so he could at least make it there in time to catch her in case she fell out –which wasn't at all impossible.

"Have a seat, darling," she said as soon as he had closed the door behind him. He hadn't been in Holly's office many times before, only enough to remember that there wasn't much besides two chairs, some messy filing cabinets and a desk that had so much paper on it that it looked like it could house an entire colony of serpents.

"I'm not getting fired or anything, right?" Stiles joked. He had half a second's worth of doubt, when he did in fact worry that he was getting fired, but he forgot all about it when holly cackled disturbingly.

"No, no, honey! Actually, this is the opposite of that," she explained and lowered her voice. "You see, with everything that's been going on with Derek and his inconsistency with showing up and not even picking up his phone, I'm afraid I'm going to have to let him go. Now, what that means is that Andrew is going to have to take his place as the assistant manager of this place, so I'm going to have to ask you to take up Andrew's job."

Stiles stared at her through squinted eyes.

"So…" he began.

"So, basically, you're getting a raise!"

"Oh!"

That was definitely not what Stiles had entered Holly's office expecting, but then again, he really had no idea what to expect. Not when this woman was involved in any way.

"Thank you so much!" he finally breathed after he realized that holding in your breath for too long makes you see spots.

"There's no problem sweetie! And by the way, if you happen to see Derek around town, just don't mention anything about work, will you? I don't want to get you all mixed up in this, and I'd rather tell him myself…"

"That he's fired?"

Holly squinted.

"Well, yes."

"Sure thing," Stiles said with an understanding look. As hard as it would be for Derek to lose his job, it might even be twice as hard for Holly to take it away from him. "Is that all?"

"If you don't have anything you want to say… I guess it!" Holly exclaimed and laughed at nothing. Stiles chuckled nervously along. He got up and walked out, and closed the door after shouting an aimless 'thanks' over his shoulder. As he walked down the stairs he contemplated what had just happened.

He finally came to the conclusion that he got promoted because of one of two factors: because Derek got fired, and everyone below him had to move up a slot to fill the gaps. But, there were other employees as well at the center, who worked the morning shift. And they had been there long before Stiles. It was far more logical for them to get promoted over him. Which meant that the other reason must be true: he got promoted for his skill.

His smile of pride disappeared as soon as he set foot in the reception.

"You son of a bitch!" a disembodied voice screamed.

Two seconds later, the screen door burst open with ferocious strength and through it zoomed a big black mass of dark fur. It landed on Stiles, and he fell flat on his back. The adrenaline relieved him of the pain, but not the fear. A set of razor sharp teeth belonging to a rather enormous wolf stared him in the eyes. Stiles gulped when the jaw opened to engulf him, and he tried to move but he was pinned to the ground. Before he could even scream, it happened.

The wolf extended its tongue and dragged it from the tip of Stiles' chin to his forehead, licking him repeatedly.

"Get off, you're tickling me!" Stiles managed gasp through his giggling fit. Very soon, Andrew appeared above and grabbed the wolf by the back of the neck. With surprising strength, he pulled it off Stiles and shoved it away rather violently.

"Aw… Did you miss me buddy?" Stiles laughed and extended his arms while kneeling on the floor. The wolf happily skipped into Stiles' warm embrace, smothering Stiles in fur. Had it undergone a heavy grooming session, Stiles might have been able to see Andrew's face of disgust.

"Yeah, well, we're not meant to have the animals out of their cages, so you might want to give that to me," Andrew said. For someone so eager to take the wolf from Stiles' arms he didn't appear satisfied with existing within a mile's radius of 'that'.

"Andrew, is that you? Would you come in here for a second, honey?" Holly screamed from upstairs. How she had been able to recognize Andrew's presence was extremely mysterious, but Stiles' realized it must have been from his loud swearing.

He huffed in frustration and hesitantly walked to the stairs.

"You put it back in it's cage," Andrew commanded and disappeared.

"You know, I think I like you better than anybody else here…" Stiles said thoughtfully to the wolf and got up.


	15. Mistake

"Morning, Stiles," somebody said. It took a few moments for Stiles to realize that somebody was talking to him, and he grunted in his half-asleep state.

"It's time to get up."

"Dad?" Stiles finally responded. It had taken a considerable amount of effort to realize where he was, and who was the person in front of him. In his defense, he had just been forced awake, and his barely open eyes did not work properly quite yet.

"Bingo. Get up, you're going to be late for school," his father instructed.

"But my alarm didn't go off yet," was all the argument Stiles was capable of forming before closing his eyes. Soon enough, he heard his father talking again so he pried his eyelids open once more.

There was fire. Everywhere. The whole house was probably going to burn down, and there was nothing either of them could do to stop it. There was only the adrenaline pumping through Stiles' veins and the speed with which it could provide him to dash out of the soon-to-be burned-down wreck as soon as possible.

He whipped the covers off himself and sat up impressively quickly.

"Whoa, take it easy there! It's only a cupcake!"

"Dad, run! We have to—What?" Stiles yelled. He looked around the room and saw no fire, except maybe the one of the candle his father had stuck in a cupcake and presented him with to get him to wake up.

"You know, I don't think you've ever been this excited about a birthday since that one time you turned four and you pissed yourself when you saw your presents," his dad chuckled to himself as he reminisced.

Stiles finally let go of the breath he'd been holding in and clutched his chest. His heart was threatening to pound out of it, and he laughed at himself just a little bit. That was certainly very stupid and uncalled for.

"You scared me with that fire," he confessed and sat back down on the bed.

"Happy birthday," his father wished and held out the little miniature birthday cake. Stiles made a wish and blew it out.

"Thanks," he gratefully said. He grabbed it out of his dad's hand when he thrust it forward repetitively, and then got up.

"Well, I'd love to stick around and spend some birthday time with you, but I have to get to work." He hesitated in the doorway. "Are we still on for dinner tonight?"

"Of course!" Stiles reassured him through a mouthful of birthday goodness. The Sheriff waved goodbye and left the house. Stiles couldn't help but feel a little guilty about making his father feel unwanted, or like a burden. He certainly didn't think of him like that. He was the only family Stiles had left, there was no way he would be trying to push him out of his life. And even if he had a billion other relatives, his dad was just that: family.

He thought about texting his father to reassure him of his love, but then remembered how poor the Sheriff's text messaging skills were, and decided against it considering that it would probably distract him from his work for a solid twenty minutes. His actions would have to be enough to portray that.

Having woken up rather efficiently, Stiles found that he had a good extra twenty minutes ahead of him until he actually had to go through his usual morning routine. Thus, he decided to treat himself to a little breakfast delight. He jumped in the bathtub, had a quick shower and got dressed before he headed down to the kitchen to fix himself a fresh batch of pancakes.

As he stood by the kitchen counter, plate and fork in hand, and stuffed his mouth with maple syrup-covered goodness, he slightly wished he had some company to share his breakfast with. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate some time alone with his thoughts before a rather long day, but he could only spend so many mornings looking thoughtfully out of the window at the trees without feeling a desire for company.

Stiles told himself he was being irrational. He was going to be surrounded with people at school in less than half an hour, and after school he got to go to work and play with the miracle-of-nature-sized wolf –who still needed a name, in Stiles' opinion. Later on, he was going to spend his evening having dinner with his father and going out with his friends. He could survive fifteen minutes alone.

Besides, it was a huge step forward for him to not want to disappear into a dark hole and never come out of it again, and wish for company on top of that. He thought of last year when he had almost persuaded his dad into letting him skip school because he was feeling so bad, however the Sheriff had insisted that Stiles needed to get some human interaction.

Stiles was about to go on a scavenger hunt to locate his keys when he heard a very loud engine revving in the distance. The kind of engine that could only be part of a machine which probably served a very specific purpose: making its driver feel good about himself, because that driver lacked in something else. Basically, a showoff.

And wouldn't you know it, a few seconds later, a black Chevrolet Camaro zoomed by outside the house, darker than night. As he walked up to his bedroom, Stiles had a random, fleeting thought about having seen that car somewhere before. It certainly would have left an impression if had indeed seen it; it wasn't the kind of car you usually saw being driven around.

Then he remembered. Not only had he seen that car before, he had also sat in it, that night he had to rush to the hospital to get a shot. That night that Derek drove him to the emergency room, and bought him dinner afterwards.

Where was Derek going at this time of day? Nothing was even open yet. Hell, the rehabilitation center wasn't even open yet, and from the conversations Stiles had had with Holly, he figured she was the first person to wake in Beacon Hills every morning, especially with that much perkiness shoved in her. Actually, looking at his watch, Stiles made some quick calculations in his head and realized that Holly should be going into work in about fifteen minutes, just for her daily morning check. She hated leaving the animals alone overnight.

Stiles had a hurried moment's suspicion that Derek was going to meet Holly there, and ask for his job back. He wondered if Derek even knew about what had happened to his job, and felt sorry for the guy. Truth be told, it was completely his fault that he had been fired. Keeping your job generally implied showing up, and if Stiles had understood correctly, these weird disappearances were not a first with him.

He realized he didn't really have his knee-jerk reaction to Derek's name this time –a rush of annoyance, that was. Maybe Stiles was finally warming up to the idea of the guy. That seemed rather impossible though, considering they hadn't actually met in about a week to clear the air between them. He probably simply didn't have any motive to stay mad at Derek anymore. Granted, he had violated the privacy of his home, but he was fired now. There was very little to no chance they were going to run into each other again. It didn't really make a difference if Stiles forgave him for it or not, so he had just subconsciously let it go.

He felt another short burst of sympathy as he opened the front door and walked out. There was no time to dwell on Derek now. His day was going to be jubilant, but draining. He only had about ten minutes in the car to prepare himself for that, psychologically. He wasn't wasting any of them on anybody else.

"Stiles," a female voice called behind him as he navigated the maze the school halls created. It wasn't surprised, excited or resentful. It was interested, and he really didn't know how to react to that.

"Ms. Morrell," Stiles greeted. He was glad to see her: they hadn't spoken in some time, and he had been growing rather fond of her. Not romantically, just in that way people tend to attach happy memories to faces, and seek them out from a crowd.

"How have you been? I've missed talking to you," she confessed.

"Have you now?" he asked, mockingly. He looked at his watch. "It looks like your appointment with the first sexually frustrated teenager of the day is about to begin."

She bit her lip and made an obviously fake thinking expression.

"I don't know…" she said thoughtfully. "That doesn't seem to quite measure up to the emotional rollercoaster that is Stiles Stilinski."

They both giggled at that. This was why Stiles liked Morrell so much –and the same went for Allison. She wasn't scared to take it a little bit further, to challenge him a little bit, to raise the bar high enough so that it wasn't too easy to crack a joke, but it wasn't impossible either. As long as Stiles had someone willing to test his wit, he was happy.

"So, if I'm not mistaken, you're eighteen today," she went on.

"That I am," he announced, and spread his arms while looking down at his body, as if he expected some miraculous transformation.

"You look… Happy," she concluded after some thought and heavy squinting. She had weighed that word against the mood of the conversation some before speaking it. It seemed appropriate. At least, Stiles didn't flinch.

"Well, I feel happier."

"I'm glad you do, Stiles. You deserve that. Have a happy birthday," she wrapped up with a deep nod and a pat on the shoulder as she passed by him.

"Ms. Morrell?" Stiles called. He wanted to say something more. She looked at him expectantly.

"If it weren't for you, this time of year I would be curled up in my bed, refusing to go to school. I'd be tired, because I would have spent the entire night before crying, and hating myself for lying to my dad's face about not wanting to get up because I was feeling ill – which we both always knew was a lie, I never understood why he never called me on it.

"Anyway, I guess what I'm trying to say is thank you. My life would have been a lot worse without you in it," he ended rather nervously.

"Stiles, you know you've always had it in you to turn things around. And if you don't know that, then at least I do and that's good enough. I was just the spark."

They both smiled meaningfully at each other, and said their goodbyes before walking off. Stiles made his way to Chemistry class. It was the only class he shared with everyone: Allison, Scott, Jackson and Lydia. Erica and Isaac had been in there too, before they vanished.

"Eighteen! You're eighteen!" Scott wheezed as they all made their way to the cafeteria.

"Yeah; Scott—"

"I mean, I'd known it was coming, but now that it's here I can't believe it!"

That was how they had spent most of their lunch period. Scott was losing his mind over the fact that Stiles' eighteenth birthday was an actual feasible event instead of something about which they just fantasized. He was glad to see his best friend do enthusiastic, and Stiles had actually encouraged this kind of reaction without even knowing it. The past two years Stiles was a dark and twisted mess on his birthday; 'cheerful' was not something he did.

Apparently, though, this year whenever Scott said something ridiculous he giggled along, passively egging him on.

However, it wasn't just Scott who was happy for Stiles—not to that extent, though. Allison was positively beaming when she first saw Stiles that morning and gave him a smile bright enough to cast light upon the entire world. He could see why Scott had fallen for her: she was a shining beacon of happiness. They needed that in their lives, at least Stiles did.

Danny kind of hovered in the background, but he had also wished him a genuine happy birthday. It wasn't like Jackson or Lydia: with them it was forced, just like anything else not involving them was. Stiles appreciated it nonetheless.

He found that he quite enjoyed the attention he was getting. Scott had, in fact, wondered off into his own little world, but Stiles had been the cause of that. People were smiling and nodding at him and wishing him a happy day in the hallways. There was not a moment during the day when he felt alone, except maybe at one point when Lydia was busy questioning Jackson on what she should wear that night, at Stiles' birthday night ceremonials—apparently, they were coming—and Allison was trying to calm Scott down.

Stiles looked at Danny awkwardly. He liked the kid, he really did. Danny had proved himself to be funny and intelligent on several occasions, and he wasn't too hard on the eyes either. Stiles was surprised to find himself checking out Danny's arms: that had been the first time he'd ever shown interest in someone else besides Derek or Andrew after his depression had lulled his sexual drive into a pathetic shadow of the roaring lion it had once been. In addition to that, Derek and Andrew were gorgeous enough to be models, and Stiles was still, deep down, a horny teenager; it was practically inevitable for him to sneak a few glimpses here and there.

When he thought of Andrew and his magnificently strange ways, he thought about calling Holly and asking for the day off. He was really not in the mood for playing russian roulette—Andrew version: where he could get a cheerful puppy dog of a guy or a menace to anything cheerful that stood in his way. He wouldn't even have to lie, he'd just say that he wanted the day off to spend time with his friends on his birthday.

He decided he'd think about that a little more later, after he was done ogling at Danny. The conclusion was that his tones body was pretty impressive, especially for his age. However, that well-sculptured figure caused Stiles to forget all about calling Holly, which meant he would end up having to go into work whether he wanted to or not.

And going into work that day was going to be a decision he would regret for the rest of his life.


	16. Birthday Boy

"Happy birthday dear!" Holly practically screamed as she grasped Stiles and squeezed his shoulders tight. Stiles thought he heard something crack, maybe a rib.

"Need to breathe," he wheezed and Holly let him as she laughed at her inability to control herself.

"Honey, come here with me," she instructed and grabbed his hand in hers while she led him up the stairs. Stiles found the contact uncomfortable and unnecessary, not to mention it messed with his balance as he ascended the flight of stairs. They went into Holly's office.

"Am I getting another raise?" Stiles joked, but Holly remained serious.

"Well, something like that…" she said and pulled her checkbook from her drawer and started scribbling something down. She ripped the little page off and put it in Stiles' hand.

"Consider it a little birthday bonus," she said and winked. Stiles looked down at the check to find that she'd given him an extra hundred dollars.

"Mrs. Hodac, that's too much for m—"

"Hush, now, I don't want to hear it," she said quietly and put a finger to his lips. "Now go, before I change my mind," she said with a dark look on her face.

Stiles must have looked scared of her because she burst out into a laughing fit at her successful attempt to worry him.

"Thank you so much," he said as he walked out, because he really didn't know what else to say to show his gratitude.

"Oh, and sweetie!" she called. Stiles came back in. "Can you see that Andrew doesn't find out about this. I've only just decided to give birthday bonuses, so I hadn't given him one when his birthday had rolled around a few weeks ago. Also… I may have forgotten it," she said with guiltily.

"Sure, I'll—Wait, what? His birthday was a few weeks ago?" Stiles asked.

"Well, yeah. I guess I won't forget it from now on…"

"He didn't mention anything to me."

Holly flicked her eyebrows upwards.

"You know how he is…"

Stiles left it at that and went back down the stairs. Why had Andrew not said anything about his birthday? Why was Holly so willing to brush it off like it was nothing?

Then again, Stiles didn't want to make a big deal out of his birthday either. He wondered if Andrew had some big tragedy hidden behind his as well.

As soon as Stiles went through the screen door he caught a glimpse of the wolf in its cage –apparently Deaton still seemed to deem its stay at the center necessary- but he soon felt a firm hand on his shoulder before he could take a second step.

"Shit! Andrew, you scared me," Stiles yelped. After a second's worth of thinking he remembered to shove the check into his pocket.

"What's that?" he asked coldly and eyed Stiles' shuffling hand.

"It's nothing, don't worry about it. Have you fed—"

"What is it?" Andrew asked more firmly. There was no expression to be found anywhere on his face. Stiles was becoming highly apprehensive of the situation.

"It's just scrap paper."

"You're lying."

Stiles stared deep into Andrew's eyes. He had no idea how to play him off. He felt like he was talking to a disembodied voice, and that Andrew was just a bored spectator of their conversation. It was as if all and any emotion had been drained.

"Andrew—"

Andrew shoved a hand at the general direction of Stiles' pocket, and he jerked backwards to avoid it.

"Hey!" Stiles exclaimed as Andrew's had closed around his wrist. As he jerked it away Andrew lunged at him and put both his hands on Stiles' shoulders. He landed heavily on his back, with Andrew pinning him down. Then Stiles' life changed.

Andrew's eyes flashed an icy blue and he opened his mouth to let out a cry that ripped Stiles' soul apart, at the same time as his teeth grew to become razor-sharp fangs. The sound was something between a roar and a beg for mercy. It lacked the pride and honor of the first, and instead had the pity-inspiring quality of the latter. Under different circumstances, Stiles would have felt sorry for Andrew, or whatever he was, but he was preoccupied with nearly passing out from the terror.

Over the sound of the blood pulsing frantically through his body, Stiles head another roar, like a lion's that commanded those who heard it to obey. He looked to his right and saw the large wolf in the cage practically double in size and smash through the fence. In one large jump, it reached Andrew and Stiles, but Andrew was still lean and agile. Using his grip on Stiles' shoulders, Andrew flung Stiles away and jumped out of the way. Before the now enormous mountain of a wolf had anytime to turn around and face Andrew, he pulled a taser out of seemingly nowhere and jammed it into the wolf's back.

Stiles' vision was slightly blurred from the hits he'd sustained on the back of his head –when Andrew had slammed him to the ground, and when he'd thrown him at a tree. He still managed to see Andrew retrieve a large mass of duct tape and wires, which he assumed to be something alone the lines of a modified taser, which was them trust upon the huge wolf. It let out a pained cry and a bright spark appeared. It fell to the ground motionless and Stiles wished that it hadn't been enough to kill it. But that taser looked enough to bring down a wild elephant.

Andrew turned around and faced Stiles.

"Andrew, no—" Stiles begged when he saw that his dead eyes had been replaced with an animal hunger, and he was suddenly scared that Andrew was going to fry him with the taser. Instead, he just punched him in the face hard enough to get him to pass out.

"Wakey, wakey, birthday boy," a gravelly voice said in a singsong tone.

Stiles felt a throbbing pain against his right temple.

"Stiles?" the voice repeated. It was soft, like a nurturing father trying to wake his child.

This time, the use of his name registered something inside him, which caused him to form an actual response. He simply groaned, but it was a start.

"Come on, wake up," Stiles heard someone say once more, and felt a gentle slap against his cheek. His eyes fluttered open but remained almost closed when they settled down. He looked around and he didn't recognize anything.

He was sitting on a cold, hard floor as far as he could tell. It was dark, it was damp and it was chilly.

"Good boy," the voice mused before Stiles felt a hand grab his face by squeezing his cheeks between its fingers and turned it around so that he was facing the other person.

Of course, it was Andrew.

"Andrew…"

"Hello, Stiles," he said with a mischievous smile. "You've been out for quite some time, I was wondering when it was that you were going to wake up."

"What the hell?" Stiles wheezed softly. It lacked the disgust he meant to put behind his demand, that which he felt towards Andrew and he wanted to express; he would have to fix it later.

"You're probably wondering where we are," Andrew provided helpfully. "I would too, if I were in your situation. Let's just say we're really isolated."

Stiles looked at Andrew. The adrenaline started coursing again, but Stiles wasn't sure if it was meant to signify fear or anger.

"What the hell is your problem?"

"Derek is," Andrew simply stated. "But don't worry. You're not problematic at all. You're actually part of my solution."

Stiles looked at him in a confused manner, but he didn't have time to say anything else. Andrew stood up and walked to the door. However, it wasn't a regular door –it was a cage door. Stiles finally realized that he was in what appeared to be a prison cell, one in a row of many, just like a miniature dungeon.

As Andrew opened the door, it groaned in response. He bent back down and grabbed Stiles by the back of the t-shirt and yanked him to his feet. Andrew was surprisingly strong and was capable of causing him immense pain, so Stiles decided against swinging a punch at Andrew and making a run for it. Besides, he wouldn't even be able to figure out where to run.

Stiles was more frightened by the second, as his senses and his conscience returned to him. He realized he was something between a prisoner and a hostage, although he didn't know if Andrew had contacted his father in demand for ransom. He hoped that he had –calling the town Sheriff and announcing to him that his son was a hostage was sure to get a lot of police units mobilized.

Andrew half-pushed, half-dragged Stiles to the end of the room and then turned right to face a long and narrow hallway that looked like it belonged in a horror movie. Andrew threw Stiles through a big doorway to the right, and he landed hard on the floor. Andrew followed Stiles into the room, with considerable grace, and with one pull he slammed an enormous, solid, sliding iron door shut. Stiles looked up and remained frozen in horror.

Derek, along with the three missing kids from Beacon Hills High School were sitting side by side, tied to four frail-looking chairs. All of their mouths were taped shut, and they all had dirty tears smeared across their faces. Erica, Isaac and Boyd screamed under the tape when they saw Stiles, and they thrashed violently in their restraints, but Derek remained calm. It was as if he'd known this was coming.

"Well, what do you know? The whole gang's here," Andrew mused. Stiles heard a light sparking sound.

"Stiles, I'm sorry that you can't stay here long, I just wanted you to get a taste of what was going on, just to make sure you understand what kind of situation you're in over here. We don't want you taking all of this lightly and thinking you can actually get away, now do we?"

He grabbed Stiles just as violently as before and led him back to his cell. He threw him in there and disappeared without a word. He sat on the ground and listened to his breathing, but it wouldn't slow down. He was in a cage somewhere, where he ended up after he witnessed Andrew sprout fangs and use a taser on a giant wolf. Derek, Erica, Boyd and Isaac were in the next room, tied down.

Stiles instinctively patted his pocket. Of course his phone was gone. Or taken, most probably. His breathing kept on speeding up. Stiles cursed himself for being prone to panic attacks. He did everything in his power to stop it. Somehow he succeeded. This was no the time to be panicking. He had to find a way to escape, and possibly help the others too. He also took half a moment to be surprised at his heroism.

He stood and grabbed the cell door and rattled it until his teeth jarred against each other, hard. After he failed at simply yanking the door off, he turned around and squatted down. He grabbed his temples and bit back a silent sob. The fact that he was the only captive capable of actually moving around and rescuing anybody else put that much more pressure on him, and scared him to no end.

And as if everything else wasn't enough, it was his fucking birthday. He was supposed to be at work right now. Then he was meant to go home to a family dinner and a night out with his friends. Certainly not spending his time locked up in a cell, and probably in danger of getting seriously hurt.

Suddenly, there was a loud clang, and Stiles guessed it was the sliding iron door. Stiles stood up and wiped his tears away, and banished all thoughts of how much he wanted his father next to him. Andrew walked in, holding Derek the same way Andrew had held Stiles before. Derek's hands were handcuffed behind his back, and he stumbled along with great effort. Andrew shoved him in the cell next to Stiles, and locked the door.

"I'll be right back," he said with a wink and walked off. Stiles wanted to swear at him with every word in his vocabulary –and Stiles' vocabulary was quite impressive in that area- but his brain told him he would have to suffice with gripping the metal bars as tightly as possible and staring daggers at Andrew.

As soon as he was out of view, Stiles looked at Derek. His words came out as a wheeze, as if he'd just run a marathon.

"I fucking told you so."


	17. Molested

"Derek, what the hell is going on?" Stiles hissed and kneeled by Derek, who was sitting up against the corner the back wall and the bars that separated Stiles and himself made.

"It's Andrew, he's lost it."

"Yeah, I managed to unravel that mystery myself! Why has he brought you and me here? Why are the other guys here? Why is any of this happening? I—"

"Stiles, calm down!" Derek commanded while making a pained expression. He looked like it took all of his strength to produce anything more than a raspy whisper. "He hates me. I don't want to scare you, but I think he wants to get to me by hurting you guys."

"Okay, see? Now, if you didn't want to scare me, you wouldn't have said that!" Stiles spat as emphatically as he could without yelling.

"Look, he's coming back. I need you to listen to me. Everybody here except you is a werewolf." Stiles made an incredulous face at that, but Derek ignored him. He was running out of time. "He put cuffs on me, but they're laced with wolfsbane. It's a special plant that harms werewolves, and I need you to take them off me because they're burning my wrists and they're not letting me use my wolf to get us out of here."

"And what makes you think he actually has the key to those handcuffs?" Andrew asked Derek, very loudly, while he casually strolled into the room. He walked to the cells Stiles and Derek were in, but he entered neither of them. Instead he leaned against the wall opposite them and watched them for a few seconds before he started talking.

"Stiles, over the course of the next few hours you'll find that what Derek had said is actually, painfully true. We really are all werewolves, even the kids from your school, I really have lost it, and I really am going to hurt you all. But over the course of the next few hours, I'm going to ask you to remember, it was Derek who brought this upon himself and upon everybody else, and everything is his fault," Andrew announced as he walked to Stiles' cell. He grabbed the iron bars and from his nails sprouted claws that could slice through those very bars. He opened his mouth to bear his teeth and his eyes glowed the same icy blue they had glowed at the animal center. His ears had grown to pointed ends and hair grew from the sides of his face. He growled menacingly.

"Oh my God," Stiles whimpered. It was a good thing he was sitting down, for his knees were shaking like crazy.

"Now, you don't really have to worry about your life, really," Andrew said conversationally as he pulled a key out of his pocket and used it to step into Stiles' cage, and lock the door behind him. "I have some very interesting plans for you, Stiles."

Andrew confidently strode towards him and kneeled down in front of him. Stiles realized that he was wishing above anything else for Andrew to stay human, and he wondered when his life had become so fucked up.

"You see, our little friend here," Andrew said as he flicked his head towards Derek, and grazed Stiles' face with the back of his hand, "has been very good in hiding his feelings. Very strong feelings. Feelings that he's had for you. But I could smell them. I could smell the lust rolling off him in waves every time he checked you out, but he never did anything about it because you were only a seventeen-year-old boy. Now you're all grown up, and he can never have you. Isn't that tragic?"

Andrew smiled sadly to himself, and Stiles thought that Andrew actually meant what he said. Whatever the case was, Stiles twisted his face out of the touch of Andrew's hand, which was then redirected to trailing a finger down from Stiles' neck, to his chest, to his stomach and becoming hooked around the waist of his trousers.

Andrew narrowed his eyes at Stiles, who was suddenly much more worried.

"Do you get where I'm going with this? Hmm? He wants you, but I'm letting him have you is what I'm trying to say, Stiles." With his other hand Andrew gripped Stiles' face and made him look into his once more glowing eyes. "Instead, I'm going to have you, and he's going to watch."

"Andrew," Derek huffed.

"Now, now, Derek… Our little Stiles here has just offered to give you a little show, the least you can do is be quiet and watch."

Stiles shut his eyes tight and pursed his lips as he saw Andrew lean in for a kiss. Soon enough, he felt pressure against his mouth and a tongue trying to force its way in. Stiles was determined to keep his mouth closed, but the grip Andrew had around his jaw hardened to the extent where Stiles thought it was going to shatter into a million pieces, and he was forced to allow Andrew to kiss him. Tears swelled up into his eyes. He wasn't sure if it was because of the pain or the disgust.

"Oh, Stiles, don't be so cold! My grandmother kisses better than that," Andrew said snidely. He faced Derek and made Stiles look at Derek too. He was looking at the wall opposite to keep himself from watching one his worst nightmares come true. He was crying too.

"How's that Derek? Does it live up to the expectations of all the days you spent lusting after Stiles? Or is it crushing you, just like you crushed everything that I've ever had?"

Derek gritted his teeth to keep himself from answering.

Andrew shifted his attention back to Stiles.

"Well, it looks like he'd rather stay quiet. Fine by me. Let's speed things along, shall we?" Andrew suggested. By sprouting a claw, he ripped the button in Stiles' trousers. "Maybe he'd like to say something now?"

Andrew waited for Derek to say something, but no reply came, so he kept going.

"Andrew, stop it," Stiles begged. He might as well have kept quiet, because he was completely ignored. He shut his eyes tight again when he felt a cold hand drop into his boxers. Andrew quickly pulled out his hand, spat on it, and proceeded to jerk Stiles off.

"How's the pressure?" Andrew breathed against Stiles neck. He started lapping at it and leaving wet kissing repeatedly, obviously going for a hickey.

"Andrew, stop!" Stiles screamed and thrashed as hard as he could. He was shocked to see that Andrew was as solid as a statue, and he kept going on as if Stiles hadn't just flopped around violently.

He was quickly reduced to a sobbing mess while Andrew slowly but steadily got what he wanted. Stiles was gradually getting hard against his own will and hated himself for it. There was nothing he could do to stop it, and he knew it was going to happen. There was no way he could stop his body from reacting to the stimulus, yet he didn't dare open his eyes.

"No, Andrew," Stiles cried desperately and tried to push him away again, and failing miserably. He felt the worst orgasm of his life build and Andrew finally stopped nibbling at his neck. He put his hand around Stiles' throat, not to choke him but to simply hold him in place. Eventually, Stiles couldn't help himself anymore.

His back arched while semen flew out of his erection and made a mess on his clothes and Andrew's hand. He kept quiet and begged for it to stop.

"Oh, Stiles, it looks like you've made a mess," Andrew said as he stood up and licked his own hand clean. He walked out of the cell and locked the door.

"Have fun smelling that, Derek," he called as he left the room. Stiles didn't know that Andrew wasn't just referring to the scent of his spunk, but also to his emotions. Stiles was somewhere between revolted, terrified, desperate and enraged. As he sat there with his limbs limp against the floor, he continued crying silently for the next fifteen minutes. At one point, he felt vomit coming up, but he pushed it back down.

"Stiles," eventually Derek grunted. Stiles didn't have it in him to reply. "Stiles, talk to me."

Stiles simply stared ahead, at nothing really.

A pained scream came from somewhere else, catching his attention.

"What the fuck is going on?" was the only thing he could think of saying.

"Stiles, did he hurt you? Are you bleeding anywhere?"

"Yes and no," Stiles replied with worrying apathy. He kept staring ahead. Off to the side heard Derek sigh.

"Stiles, look at me." He obeyed. Derek looked every little bit as terrible as Stiles, only less debauched. Dirt had been cleaned off his face by falling tears. Looking into Derek's eyes seemed to remind Stiles that he needed to cover himself up. He pulled his boxer shorts up over his genitals and zipped up his trousers. His button had been ripped off. He had been slumping, so he sat up straight.

"Derek, tell me what is going on. Why is this happening? Why the fuck did I just get molested?"

Derek looked surprised. He wasn't expecting such a powerful comeback by someone who had just been torn apart. He sighed again as he thought about where he should begin.

"Okay, so there's different kinds of werewolves," Derek said. Stiles' response was an expression of a downtrodden child, but Derek braced himself and went on. "An Alpha, which is me, is the leader of the pack. An Alpha can also bite humans and transform them into wolves. A Beta is simply a member of the pack, and an Omega is a wolf that doesn't have a pack. Erica, Isaac and Boyd are my Betas. We're in the same pack. Andrew used to be in it but I had to kick him out because he killed another human, and that's not how we work in my pack. He's an Omega now.

"There's also werewolf hunters. Their motto is that they hunt those who hunt them. Andrew's killed a human, so he's just game to them. Now, some of these hunters are very extreme, and they rushed into Andrew's home while they were trying to kill him. They shot everyone in the house and murdered all of his family, but he managed to escape. He blames me for everything that has happened to him because he believes that if I hadn't given him the bite, he wouldn't have to deal with all of this, but I had warned him about the hunters and the hunger before I gave it to him.

"Nevertheless, he hates me now. These handcuffs are laced with wolfsbane, which hurts me, like I told you before. The other three are next door, and he's torturing them with electricity. It's one of the few things that keeps them from releasing their wolf."

Derek stopped talking not because he had reached a conclusion, but because Stiles' expression didn't show that he was willing to hear any more. Either way, he knew enough.

"Derek, don't take this the wrong way, but I don't give a fucking shit about your fairytales, or about what you're all smoking or snorting. All I know is that I just got molested and I'm sitting in a dungeon-looking place. This is all a bunch of sharp objects away from becoming a Saw movie."

Derek was shamed. He looked at the ground because he felt that he wasn't worthy of looking Stiles in the eye. Andrew's insanity wasn't on Derek's shoulders, but Stiles' torture was.

"Stiles, what he said was true," Derek confessed, without looking up. "He's hurting you because he knows I care about you. I know we've barely spent time with each other, but I do. And I'm truly sorry that you're going through all of this because of me. But I promise you I'm going to do everything in my power to get you out of here."

Had Derek looked up, he would have seen Stiles' accusing expression soften.

"Turn around," Stiles said caringly.

"What?" Derek asked, and looked into his eyes.

"Turn around and let me see those handcuffs. Maybe I can help."


	18. Red-Handed

Andrew turned up the current. Isaac squirmed in his seat while as agony poisoned his bloodstream. He clenched his teeth hard enough to chew through steel, but he never let out anything more than a restrained whimper. Andre turned the current back down after what seemed like a century.

He leaned down so that his face was about two inches from Isaac's, who was sweaty and panting.

"Oh, won't you give us a little howl? What are you worried about, that you'll get your puny little Alpha's feelings hurt? Make him feel like he failed as a pack leader? You know he can hear your heartbeats and he can hear everything we say. There's really no meaning to keeping it in. Besides, this is the point of this little exercise hear, to ruin his life."

Even if his mouth hadn't been taped shut, Isaac wouldn't have responded. He couldn't bring himself to form a coherent sentence while the wires tied around his wrists burned like a white-hot flame, not to mention that his vocabulary was inadequate to express how much his hatred.

"How about you, hmm? The big macho guy?" Andrew suggested as he strolled up to Boyd with his hands clasped behind his back. The words rolled around his tongue like he was trying to sweet talk an innocent young woman back to his apartment. "Are you going to crack?" he said softly as his fingers moved towards the dial.

"Are you going to scream like the tortured dog you are?" he snarled. "Are you going to let Derek hear what he's putting you through? Are you going to show him the hell you're going through just because he wanted a pack?"

Andrew was about to turn the dial when one of the phones he had on the table off by the wall started vibrating. He walked over and saw Scott's name appear on the mobile phone that he remembered belonged to Stiles. He cursed softly under his breath while he walked out of the room with the phone in hand. This was the third call in a row. If Scott didn't get an answer soon, he was going to try to talk to Stiles through his father. And Andrew didn't want that happening.

He promptly pulled the keys out of his pocket while he walked, and used them to unlock Derek's cell and walk in. He kneeled beside Derek and extended his claws around his neck.

"This is Scott. If you say anything you shouldn't, Derek dies," Andrew simply stated and answered the call on loudspeaker.

"Hello?" Stiles called nervously. Derek's eyes staring at him were not easing the pressure.

"Stiles! Finally! I've already called you, like, two times now!"

"Yeah, I know…" Stiles was at a loss for words. He didn't know what to do. He noticed that his phone screen said that it was seven o'clock. "I was kind of busy with work, but I'm off now."

"Okay, good, so you're going to have your birthday dinner thing with your dad now, right?"

"Yeah."

"Alright, I just wanted to update you on the birthday festivities." Stiles inappropriately thought to himself that Allison was probably the one who taught him that expression. Then he remembered that Derek's life was at risk as well as his own. "If you're planning to wear something smart… Well, don't. It'd be better if you wore something you didn't mind getting wet."

"Oh." Under different circumstances, Stiles would have cursed at Scott. "Okay, I'll do that."

"Cool, call me when you're finished with dinner. Happy birthday."

Scott hung up. Andrew clicked the phone shut and dropped it in his pocket.

"You know, it's quite poetic, really," he pondered to himself. As he lowered his claws, Derek and Stiles both sighed out. "If you play your cards right, you might end up dying on the day you were born," Andrew said as if he were sharing a mildly interesting piece of trivia.

Stiles gulped. Then he realized, he was supposed to be heading home. His dad would be looking for him if he took too long to get there, and when he couldn't offer the Sheriff a decent explanation, he would get worried. That was both good and bad.

Good because it meant somebody might actually come looking for them. Bad because it might make Andrew pressured or angry enough to kill someone and the person that came to the rescue might also get killed.

Andrew quietly got up and left the room once more, making sure to close and lock every door behind him.

As he sat down pondering his doom, Stiles turned his head and looked at Derek. His hands were still cuffed behind his back and his head was bent down, beaten. His breathing was steady but Stiles imagined that the position Derek was in must be very painful after so long. They'd been sitting in their cells for about two hours. Not to mention that they were laced with wolfsbane, which apparently hurt werewolves.

Because werewolves existed now.

He stared Derek up and down. There wasn't really anything wolf-y to him. He was just a regular looking guy. His white V-neck t-shirt hugged his bulging muscles perfectly and his jeans were tight in all the right places; a brown leather belt was holding them up. Okay, so maybe he was just regular looking. Stiles could recall thinking about Derek as something a little more than searing hot back when he wasn't trapped in a dank dungeon, when he had the leisure to be sitting around and thinking about guys. His dick twitched a little bit but went instantly soft again as Stiles remembered Andrew's touch and was horrified in himself.

"Derek, I've got it!" Stiles hissed, barely audile. He didn't dare speak louder than that after Derek had filled him in on werewolf abilities, which included super-hearing. Derek rolled his head to the side to face Stiles. He was looking worse by the second.

"Your belt!" Stiles explained and pointed repeatedly at Derek's belt. He had a newfound spark in him, one which Derek did not share. He simply shook his head.

"The tongue of your belt, I can use it to pick the lock. I read a thing about it online!"

Derek raised his eyebrows. He wasn't sure if he was excited about finally having found a possible solution, or surprised about the boy's resourcefulness. He corrected himself: he wasn't a boy anymore, not after today.

"Okay," Derek grunted and slowly staggered to his knees. His pressed his body up against the bars that separated Stiles and himself, partly because he couldn't hold himself up until Stiles had gotten the belt off him.

"Alright, let me just…" Stiles murmured to himself as he got to work on Derek's belt. It wasn't as easy as he had thought, but it wasn't impossible.

"You know, if we weren't being held here against our will, this could be very kinky," Derek groaned with some effort. Stiles looked up at him.

"Really? Humor? Now? Where the hell was this when we were working at the animal center?"

"Don't worry, we'll be back at work by Monday," Derek tried to reassure him. Stiles appreciated the gesture, and soon whipped the belt off Derek's waist. He straightened up but stayed on his knees, because he didn't feel like he wanted to look down at Derek while he said this.

"Derek, you got fired," Stiles sighed with surprisingly little hesitation. There were bigger matters at hand.

"Sounds about right," Derek said pessimistically and sat down. Stiles got up and went to his cell door, only to be soon disappointed. The tongue of the belt didn't fit.

"Damn it, I really thought this was going to work!" he said as angrily and quietly as he could. He threw himself back down on the floor but didn't let go of the belt. It was warm.

"It's okay, Stiles. That's the best plan we've had since 'Let's both scream at him to throw him off and make a run for it.' Don't beat yourself up."

Stiles chuckled sadly. That was a really crappy plan.

"Do you have anything in your pockets?" Derek asked. He was trying to be hopeful, but it was obvious that he was expecting a negative answer. Stiles emptied his pockets on either side of himself.

"Well, I have a paper clip, a quarter, a stick of gum…" Stiles paused as he fished around in his back pocket. "And wouldn't you know it, another useless paper clip." He tossed it at the small pile of the rest of his booty and hit the back of his head against the wall he was leaning on.

Derek cleared his throat.

Stiles didn't think anything of it, so he kept his eyes closed and his head leaned back against the wall. It was cool against his scalp.

Derek cleared his throat again.

Stiles cast a sideways glimpse at him. He was staring suggestively.

"What?" Stiles asked.

"The paper clips."

"Yeah, what about them?"

"Can't you pick the lock with them?"

Stiles opened his mouth to reply, but he realized Derek was right. He looked down at them, then at the lock, and back at Derek.

"That's genius!" he laughed softly. "I fucking love you!" he exclaimed before he could stop himself and he went to work with the paper clips before he could let himself think about what he'd just said. But it was too late.

Derek obviously had feelings for Stiles. Andrew had said so, and Derek didn't deny it. On top of that, he looked positively mortified when Andrew had his hands and his lips all over Stiles. There was definitely something there, at least on Derek's side.

Stiles wasn't sure what he felt about Derek just yet. A few days ago he'd hated the guy, and now he possibly owed him his life. Sure he was brooding and sexy, but a lot of guys were brooding and sexy. He kept working on the lock, thankful that his back faced Derek.

His brain didn't fail to lead him to the conclusion that Derek knew some of his deepest secrets. Maybe what Derek felt was still true, and not just some adrenaline thing, because during their interesting talks during the past two hours he had admitted that he was indeed the wolf that had occupied the cage at the animal center for the past week. However, he hadn't admitted to understanding human language while he was completely wolfed out, but Stiles guessed that Derek was just doing that to spare his dignity. It wasn't every day that he went along telling people about his dead mother and the carriage of depressing emotions those memories brought with them.

"Derek?"

"Hmm?"

"What do we do if I open this?"

"You let me go, and you open my cuffs. Then, I kill Andrew."

Stiles pondered it. He could still feel Andrew's touch and it made his skin crawl. It was satisfying.

"What if we get caught?"

Derek swallowed hard.

"Hopefully, we won't."

"But I have to pick this lock, pick your lock and pick the lock of your cuffs."

Derek pondered this time, although it wasn't as much of a ponder as it was a thoughtful scowl.

"Just do me, then," Derek instructed and re-positioned himself so his back was facing Stiles.

"What?" Stiles asked nervously and the color drained from his face. He almost dropped the paper clips.

"Try to get my cuffs open. If you do, I can shift into my Alpha form. He can't stop me when I'm in my Alpha from, not without that crazy looking taser. Plus, these cell doors look like they should be easy enough to break through."

Stiles immediately got to work. He hoped that it wouldn't take long-he remembered quite a few tips and tricks from everything he'd read online about picking locks. He'd never thought he would actually have to use that information, it was just one of those browsing binges he went on at the early hours of the day looking for things like the life cycle of a giraffe.

"Shit, Stiles, he's coming," Derek hissed after a few seconds had passed.

"But I've almost got it," Stiles whispered urgently. His heart was beating ridiculously fast. He realized that there were only so many times Andrew could give him a handjob before taking it a step further, or doing something more violent.

"Stiles, just stop, he'll-"

"Well, well, well," Andrew mused as he strolled back into the room. He stood in front of Stiles' cage. Stiles had managed to hide the paper clips in time, but it wasn't like Andrew was stupid. He opened the door and picked Stiles up by the back of his neck. His grip was much too tight and he yelped while he was being dragged out of the room. Stiles heard Derek scream his name as he was being taken away.


	19. Peter

"Dad?"

"Hey, Stiles! I've been trying to get a hold of you!"

"Yeah, I, uh… My phone was in my bag," Stiles admitted hesitantly.

"Oh, okay. I just wanted to make sure we're still up for dinner? 'Cause you're running just a little bit late," the Sheriff asked.

"Yeah, about that… Dad, I may not be able to make dinner," Stiles confessed. It broke his heart to destroy his dad's hopes, and the following silence was torture. "It's just that, Scott has this restaurant thing all planned out, and it was a surprise, and he's insisting that I crash over at his house tonight…"

More silence.

"Sure, yeah," his father replied, not really convincing Stiles with his fake careless tone. "You should hang out with your friends, I mean you're only going to turn eighteen once."

Stiles clenched his teeth. It felt like one of those moments where it was appropriate to say something out of a movie like, "I'm always going to be your son," but now was not the time. He was trying to get out of dinner, and get his father to stop calling, at least until the next day. Even it meant destroying the plans the Sheriff had made and not really caring about the beautiful feast he had probably cooked. Stiles knew how much this dinner meant to his father. It was like a confirmation that Stiles was still going to love his father, and be close to him no matter how old he got. He was desperately clinging to Stiles: practically the only family he had left.

But the only other alternative was to bring him into the whole situation, and get everyone killed in the process. And that was worse, if only by a tiny bit.

Andrew took the phone away from Stiles' ear, and he heard it click shut.

"Good," Andrew declared and patted Stiles' cheek. He squirmed in his seat, trying to get as far away as possible from the disgusting hand, but there was only so much he could do while being blindfolded and tied to a chair.

He heard Andrew walk to the back of the room, and then a small thud. Probably his phone being set on a table. Andrew returned.

"So, shall we continue?" he said and walked off somewhere to the right. Stiles heard somebody else squirm. His heart beat slightly faster. Something bad was about to happen.

"Let's make Derek's skin really crawl, how about that?" he asked and then Stiles heard a muffled scream. It was obviously Erica. Stiles heard the electricity spark and flicker as Andrew increased the current.

"No! Stop it!" Stiles yelled. Immediately the electricity went back down to its previous level. Stiles heard Andrew sprint to him.

"What?" he spat and grabbed Stiles' face. He could feel claws prick his skin. "What did you say?" Andrew demanded with an animal rage. Stiles felt like vomiting.

"Hey!" somebody yelled, off in the distance. Stiles wondered if it was Boyd, but he remembered that Boyd was sitting right next to him. Close enough he thought he could feel the electricity running through his own body. Thankfully, Andrew seemed to think that such privileges were strictly for the supernatural beings.

Stiles heard Andrew make a satisfied noise and could practically feel the breath splash across his face. It was putrid. The enraged werewolf paced out of the room. Now that the prisoners were alone, they took their opportunity. Not that Andrew couldn't hear them from the next room, but if they talked quietly enough it didn't seem like Andrew was capable of keeping hold on his sanity, let alone detect voices through a concrete wall.

"Stiles," a boy breathed.

"Boyd?" he replied. He turned his head to the side, so his ears faced the origin of the voice.

"No, Isaac. I'm the only one without a gag."

"What? Why?"

"You don't want to know."

Stiles swallowed. He was willing to take Isaac's word for that.

"Stiles, listen. We can't do anything with the current going through us. You're the only one who can actually do something. You have to turn off the machine, so we can break free and kill Andrew."

Stiles swallowed again. He wasn't sure why he did it this time. Maybe it was because he was responsible for the lives of everyone in this place. Maybe it was because there was no way he could actually save the lives of everyone in this place. Or possibly it was the thought of Andrew's bloody, torn body. Though the latter probably made him feel a little better rather than worse.

"I can't do anything, I'm tied to this chair. And I'm blindfolded."

"Yeah, I can see that."

Stiles internally rolled his eyes.

Erica let out a desperate cry, almost as heart-wrenching as that of the Omega wolf.

"Oh my God, Derek," Isaac breathed.

"Here he is, boys and girls," Andrew announced. Apparently he had walked back into the room with Derek. "Oh, I'm sorry, you should see this Stiles. Let me take that off," he said and Stiles heard something heavy fall and a grunt. He could only imagine that Andrew had been holding up Derek, but not anymore.

Suddenly, his blindfold was violently ripped off. Had he been anywhere brighter, his eyes would need some time to adjust. But it was dusk outside, and there were no lights inside.

Stiles blinked the fuzziness away from his vision in time to see Andrew walk back to Derek who was lying on the ground and looking worse than every, and pick him up so that they both faced the people tied on the chairs.

"This here," Andrew began, and pointed a clawed finger at Derek's face, "is a pathetic excuse for an Alpha. However, he has offered to give his life in exchange for your freedom. I am willing to make that exchange, just not yet." With that, he dropped Derek back on the ground. Andrew leaned next to his head.

"Don't you see it in their eyes?" he mused malevolently. "The expectations they had of a strong, capable leader? The very expectations that you failed to meet?"

And, very softly, he went on. "Don't you see the lost love you never had?"

Andrew whipped his claws against Derek's chest. His t-shirt tore open and blood spewed from within. Derek arched his back and grunted in searing pain. After a few seconds he calmed down and lay there, on the ground, panting and sweating and looking at Andrew in disbelief.

"Are you crazy? You laced your own claws with wolfsbane? That's going to get into your bloodstream—it's going to kill you!" Derek grunted forcefully.

"Well, isn't that the caring Derek we all know and love?" Andrew replied. "If only you had cared enough to save your family from getting torched alive by that hunter bitch," he spat.

Stiles saw Derek's face. He saw that he wanted to retaliate, he wanted to throw an insult at Andrew, but he held it back because fighting like a couple of school kids would benefit no one. Stiles knew that Derek cared about everyone else, maybe even more than himself. Apparently, a hunter had burned Derek's family alive, and that wasn't an easy thing to let slip by without speaking up. Anytime anybody brought up Stiles' mom, he felt a bubbling rage inside him, which quickly simmered down to a pot of self-loathing and depression.

"I think," Andrew began, and pulled Derek up to his knees so that he was facing the chairs, holding him by the back of his hair, "that your friends here would like to see me rid you of your misery. You know, relieve you of your pain and all of that…" he said nonchalantly and waved a hand about. He stood behind Derek and grabbed his neck. The claws were out.

Boyd thrashed in his seat. Even for a werewolf, it was surprising how much strength he had in him while he was constantly being electrocuted. Isaac mimicked him, with less force. Erica shrieked through her gag but Stiles was silent. He didn't utter a single word—his eyes went simply wide in terror, and all he could do was stare as his jaw hung loose.

Suddenly, somewhere up above, there were footsteps. Somebody was walking above this room, and the sounds of the pacing feet reverberated through the large chamber. Everybody looked up and everybody was quiet to hear. Andrew looked terrified.

The footsteps moved towards the general direction of the giant metallic sliding door. Then they casually strolled around for second before picking up a pattern that could only be described as descending a staircase. It wasn't long before a dark, brooding figure in a black trench coat stood in the doorway and blocked out whatever little light was coming from above. Apparently, the stairs were open to the outside world.

"Andrew," he said smugly. "Next time you plan to beat up my nephew and carry his bloody body along with four other people to your pathetic, underground excuse of a torture chamber, make sure to cover up your tracks. Don't you know us wolves can smell blood from mile?"

The man stepped forward. He was older than Stiles had expected him to be. There were a few wrinkles on his face, but not so much so that they showed a burden of great age. Simply a face that showed the laughter lines of someone who had done his fair share of laughing during their youth. The goatee suited his angled chin and cheekbones perfectly. His hair was drawn back smoothly, but it was not slick. The blood red button-up shirt he was wearing came together perfectly with the black trousers and similarly colored belt with the chrome buckle. All in all, the man knew how to dress.

He took a few more steps forward. His designer shoes clicked loudly on the concrete floor. He had his hands in the pockets of his coat. Andrew quickly turned around and turned Derek with him. He showed the man the grip he had around his neck. The mysterious visitor seemed indifferent.

"Oh, and my name is Peter Hale, by the way, for those of you who don't know," he charmingly announced to everybody else in the room as he leaned on one leg to peer at Stiles who was sitting right behind Andrew.

"Don't you act like you're not scared Peter. I could kill Derek any second now. You're going to do exactly as I say," Andrew commanded. Even Stiles felt the tremble in his voice.

"Actually, that's only partly true, I'm afraid," Peter responded compassionately. "You could indeed kill Derek any second now, but the rest is completely false. And while we're on the subject, if you can kill him, and whether or not you're actually going to kill him are two very different things."

Peter took another step and sprawled his arms out wide. He slightly bowed his head and looked at Andrew deviously. "Listen to my heartbeat. Am I lying?"

In a quick act of desperation, Andrew flung Derek at Peter, who extended his arms, grabbed him and set his nephew down gently. His strides got longer and were filled with purpose as he walked towards Andrew. The terrified wolf performed a backflip, flew over Stiles' head and landed behind him with less grace than expected. He grabbed Stiles' shirt and pulled him off the chair and threw his body to the side.

Then, Andrew held the chair in both hands as tightly as he could and charged at Peter. He swung it but the older man was experienced. He found it easy to keep his cool and elegantly avoided the blow. He grabbed Andrew's wrists while he tried to recover from swinging and missing, but he used his other hand to jab Peter's forearm with his claws. Peter was not expecting poisoned claws, and the sharp pain came as a surprise. Both of them let go of each other.

Andrew tossed the chair aside so he could fully take on his werewolf form. Peter was close behind. Their ears grew to sharp points and hair sprouted from their cheeks. They growled at each other while they widened their stances, each one getting ready for the other to make the first move.

"Stiles!" Derek hissed. He was trying to be as quiet as possible. Andrew wouldn't find it too difficult to be blinded by rage and kill anything that caught his attention.

Stiles recognized that his name was being called, but he couldn't quite realize from where. Frankly, he was seeing a few spots from the hit he had just sustained to his skull.

"Stiles!"

"Huh?"

"Stiles, go to the back! Get your phone and call Allison's dad, now!" Derek commanded him. He looked towards the door. He could see Peter and Andrew having a staredown. Then he saw Derek on the ground much closer. They were both lying down with their hands tied behind their backs.

"Come on, Stiles, get up!" Derek grunted. Stiles registered the simple command and warily got up. He was very much aware of the supernatural creatures about to rip each other's throats out. He took a few shaky steps back, and they slowly became larger, until he was moving as quickly and quietly as he could towards the back of the room, where he thought his phone was.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the table. He started making his way for it when Andrew finally lunged. He landed on Peter's chest and threw him backwards. They landed outside of the room, and Stiles did not hesitate to run to the table. He cursed himself for buying a black phone, because it was dark and he could barely notice it, but it was definitely there. He rather uncomfortably twisted his arms up and over his head until they were in front of him instead of behind him. He grabbed his mobile phone and jerkily jogged back to Derek. He kneeled down beside him and noticed that the two wolves were still close by, but there were out of sight.

"How did you do that with your arms?" Derek asked in something between disgust and awe.

"I'm double-jointed."


	20. Rescue

"Allison?" Stiles begged, but tried to keep the panic out of his voice.

"Hey, Stiles! We're still on for tonight, right?" she asked cheerfully.

"Yeah, sure. I just need to speak to your dad."

Allison paused, and Stiles was sure she was frowning. He was sure he would be if he were in her position.

"My dad?"

"Yeah, Allison, I can explain later. Just, please give the phone to him, quickly."

"Stiles, you're kind of freaking me out here—"

"Allison, please!" Stiles begged again. This time the desperation was evident. Allison mumbled her compliance incoherently. She realized there was something bigger than her going on, something that she didn't necessarily need or want to get in the way of.

"Dad? Stiles needs to talk to you!" he heard her call through her house. Stiles' heart pumped as he waited to hear Mr. Argent's voice. Meanwhile, Peter's flight through the air was framed by the doorway, followed by Andrew flinging himself at Peter who landed with a loud crash. Stiles was surprised that Andrew could take Peter on; he didn't seem as experienced or collected, but he was certainly infuriated and he wasn't about to hold back for anybody.

"Hello? Stiles?" Chris Argent called. Stiles put the phone to Derek's ear as he was sitting on the floor, rather forcefully.

"Chris, it's me. I can't explain, but we need your help. We're underneath the old house, and Peter's the only one who's actually able to move, but Andrew is killing him. You know I wouldn't be asking you to save us unless I didn't have another choice. Chris, please," Derek pleaded. Stiles heard the broken hope in Derek's voice, and he realized the he had been acting strong until that point for Stiles' sake, and for his pack's sake. The truth was that he was more scared than everyone else.

"No, Chris, think about it! I'm offering you Andrew on a plate here! And you very well know that the rest of us have never hurt a single hair on any human! If not for us, just do it so that you have a clean conscience!"

Derek made a strangled noise of protest as Stiles moved the phone away, but the appearance of a bloody Andrew in the doorway made Stiles' limbs drop dead, as well as his jaw.

"Andrew!" a struggling voice called from a distance. It was probably Peter, but it didn't stop Andrew from pacing quickly towards Stiles' vulnerably human body.

"Trying to call those hunters on me, are you? I guess I'll just have to kill you all and be gone then—"

"Your entire family is fucking dead, Andrew!" Peter screamed. He appeared again, clutching the wall and bent over. His face was covered in blood, his coat had disappeared and his red shirt was torn open but the also blood underneath made the holes barely noticeable.

"Do you even remember why you're doing this? Just so you can have revenge?" Peter demanded. His words were spat out with great effort, but he did it anyway. It seemed to freeze Andrew dead in his tracks, at least. "What do you think, you're going to kill all of these innocent people and be on your way? Is that really going to give you the closure you want?"

Andrew chuckled. He chuckled to himself, and then he laughed until he was letting out a bellowing roar of a manic laugh. He turned and looked at Peter.

"You really think I'm looking for closure, and revenge. Look at yourself! You were born a wolf and you couldn't even kill me with at least double the year's worth of experience! I've got everyone right where I want them right now."

He turned back to Stiles.

"I'm just going to hurt Derek the way I was hurt, so that he will know the pain he's caused me. And I think I'm going to start killing his most loved ones first."

Stiles swallowed and stared widely at Andrew. He wanted to move, but he stayed on his knees next to Derek with his hands still tied in front of him. Not because he had a sudden surge of heroism, encouraging him to protect Derek in any way possible, but because the fear had immobilized him.

"The bite didn't ruin your life Andrew. It's a gift; if you learn to use it properly you can become anything you want to be! You just didn't listen to us, and you ended up being a killer."

"Oh, fuck you, Peter! Fuck you and all your little life lessons!" Andrew sobbed and flailed his arms around. He was reduced to switching from facing Peter to facing Stiles. "Where the hell was all of this when I was begging for your help? Where were you with your wisdom and your teachings when I was begging you to help me because I was so scared that I was going to kill some of my friends?"

"I tried to help you! We all did!"

"You wanted to chain me up underground during the full moon!"

"That's how everyone learns to control the wolf!"

At that moment, Andrew whipped around and went for Stiles. He wrapped his hands around his throat and slammed him to the ground. Stiles tried to pry the fingers off his neck, but there was no way his bony hands would be able to overpower Andrew's superhuman strength.

Just as Stiles had started seeing spots, just when all the blood was rushing to his head, just when he heard Andrew scream something about killing everyone the pressure went away. All he heard was a yelp of pain and he looked up to see Derek's fangs tight around Andrew's thigh. He collapsed back down a few seconds, and he missed Derek being kicked through the air and slamming into the wall, right in front of Peter.

Desperately clinging to consciousness, Stiles looked and saw Andrew sitting down and clutching his leg at its base, but quickly looking back into Stiles' eyes. The adrenaline rushing through him was fuel enough for him to hurriedly shuffle backwards, but having his hands tied didn't help at all.

In one motion, Andrew had jumped over Stiles, grabbed him by the back of his t-shirt and held him up in the air like he was displaying him to Derek and Peter. He leaned on his good leg because the Alpha bite wasn't healing nearly as quickly as the others, but it didn't stop him from raising a clawed arm to Stiles' throat.

"Andrew, stop!" Isaac yelled, but he was ignored.

"Enjoy the show boys," Andrew declared. As his long, bloodied digits went to close around Stiles' neck, he started sobbing.

"Andrew, please!" Stiles cried. Andrew didn't bother looking at Stiles, but admired the pain on Derek's face instead.

"Do you feel that hell now, Derek? Can you understand what it's like to have everything you've ever loved ripped apart and all you can do is just sit and watch?"

It was then when it really did look and feel and sound like it really was a little corner of someone's hell. Two figures in black appeared behind Derek and Peter. They threw two small grenades into the room and a flash grenade as well. They all went off simultaneously. Stiles' eyes had luckily been shut as he had been crying for his life, but the smoke still got to him. It quickly filled the room with a sickly sweet smelling smoke, and Andrew dropped Stiles. He got on all fours and clumsily crawled towards the general direction in which he remembered the door was before the room was filled with smoke.

"Get the Betas!" a man's gruff voice commanded, time and time again. Chaos was erupting continuously. People were running everywhere, humans were yelling, werewolves were howling and all Stiles could do was pathetically drag his body to the exit while his eyes filled with tears. Each heartbeat was as loud as a firing cannon, and he tried to scream for help but his throat was burning from the smoke. His voice refused to be sounded so he just kept crawling until someone running past him accidentally shoved his knee into the side of his head.

He was with Scott. And Allison. And Lydia, and Jackson; even Danny. They were all sitting together. They were laughing and talking and having a great time. One of the people wished Stiles a happy birthday, but he had no idea who it was. It was as if he was drunk, and all the alcohol was fogging up his mind. He looked around and he recognized his surroundings. He was at the McDonalds.

A few tables over were those kids, the ones who had messed with him and Scott, so long ago. It seemed like it was a long time ago, anyway. They saw Stiles and they started laughing and elbowing each other. They got up and started making their way towards Stiles' table.

"Hey birthday boy!" they called. Stiles was getting worried. He turned back to face his friends, look for a hint of support, but they had magically disappeared. Stiles whipped back. The bullies were still coming.

When they had come up to him, they wasted no time. The first kid swung a fist at Stiles, and he shut his eyes and turned his head away pathetically, to afraid to do anything else like fight back. At that moment, another strong, firm arm appeared over Stiles' shoulder and grabbed the fist about to hit him in the face. He looked up and saw that Derek was somehow standing behind him.

Derek squeezed the fist in his own hard enough that the boy started screaming in pain. As soon as it was released, he backed away like a frightened animal, clutching his wrist.

"Leave him alone," Derek commanded. They all obeyed.

"Stiles? Stiles, wake up!"

Stiles opened his eyes groggily. He saw some light above. Not sunlight, it wasn't nearly strong enough. Just light. It was brighter than those torture chambers, at least, although that wasn't saying much.

"Mm…" he whined. "Derek."

"Stiles, open your eyes."

Stiles felt a light slap against his cheek. He opened his eyes and saw not Derek protecting him from the evil bullies, but Allison's father. His face was framed by the night sky as he leaned over Stiles, who was lying on the ground.

Then he remembered what happened. He immediately sat up, and was happy to see that his hands were free.

"Where are we? Where is everyone?" he immediately demanded. He got up, and felt the world spin. He didn't really care. People's lives were still in danger, most probably.

"Stiles, sit down. You're still dizzy, I can see," Mr. Argent said somewhat reassuringly. Stiles looked around. Erica, Boyd and Isaac were sitting on the bed of dead leaves that coated the floor of the forest, with blankets around their shoulders. At least three men wearing all black, with gas masks pulled up over their heads and rifles in their hands were standing or walking around, messing with their belongings in the three black trucks that were parked on no set fashion or order. How they had managed to navigate such bulky vehicles through such densely forested area, Stiles would never know.

He quickly had a head count in his head. He wasn't sure it was right, his brain was still a little dysfunctional from the hit and the smoke.

"Where's Andrew? And Derek?" he asked, and his voice was surprisingly hoarse. He turned in circles. There was a round hole in the side of a slope that acted, as far as he could guess, as a doorway. He could see wisps of smoke slithering out. Above the slope was a ruined house. "And Peter?" he went on, when he realized their savior had been missing as well.

"We couldn't get them out. Come on Stiles, let's go," Chris said with hurried compassion and put a hand on Stiles' shoulder to guide him towards the vehicles.

"Wait, what?" Stiles whimpered, trying to process the information. "They're all still in there?" he questioned and pointed at the round door.

"Yes, but that's wolfsbane smoke, Stiles. It's probably already done its job, there's not much else we could do."

"But—" Stiles was about to protest, when a coughing, stumbling figure burst out of the door. He promptly collapsed on the ground and flipped over, unconscious. It was Peter. That meant that both Derek and Andrew were still in there.

"They're going to die! Go help them!" Stiles begged Mr. Argent, and grabbed him by the front of his shirt.

"Stiles," the man began and gripped his wrists. He was trying his hardest to convince him, but he should have known there was no changing Stiles' mind. "Andrew's had it coming his way for a long time now. It's full of smoke down there. I could find him even if I wanted to."

"But Derek! He's with the good guys! He told me he's never killed a person!"

Chris Argent made a face; a face that showed pity and heart-wrenching compassion. It was the kind of pity that shoots its roots deep into a person's heart and stayed there, long enough to change the person and make him someone different. But Chris Argent wasn't just any person. He was a trained hunter, and he wasn't about to let a single emotion like pity, however powerful, cloud his decisions and make him risk his life or that of any of his comrades over a wolf.

"Stiles, I'm sorry, but there's nothing we can do," he said, firmly yet decisively. Stiles looked deep into his eyes, and searched for any kind of hint of willingness to decide otherwise. He desperately looked for it and came up dry.

"Well, if you're not going to try, then I am," he declared, spun around, and ran off into the smoke.

"No! Wait! Andrew's still down there!"

Stiles knew. He knew there was about a fifty percent chance he was going to run into either one of them. And it was a pretty fairly evenly distributed chance, considering he couldn't see whom he might run into at any moment. But he ran anyway, until the smoke swallowed him up whole.


	21. Run

"Allison, I'd told you to stop following us ten minutes ago!"

"What did you expect me to do dad, just sit around and do nothing? Stiles just called me sounding scared out of his mind and you took off like the wind with a freaking gun in your hand!"

Allison's father squinted at her.

"How did you even see that? Are you spying on me?"

"Hell yes I'm spying on you! And it looks like I've got a good reason to be doing that, too!"

He grunted because that was all he could do. He wanted to protest but he knew she was right. So he just grunted.

"Look, Allison, I can't explain all of this right now because Stiles is in danger. Get in your car and wait for me," he commanded. As he spun around and darted off into the mysterious depths the wolfsbane smoke held, he heard his daughter shriek and stomp and demand explanations that he simply could not afford to be giving at the moment.

Stiles, an eighteen-year-old boy had just run straight into a smoking, underground chamber with two werewolves who were hopefully dead. Chris only hoped that they were dead because the alternative –the two wolves still very much alive and kicking, after having lost all sense of direction and restraint, ready to pounce at anything which crossed their paths right before they finally lose their consciousness and finally drop – was just a little bit too terrifying.

"Stiles!" he yelled. "Stiles, where are you?" He knew he was probably driving the monsters toward him by being so loud, but he couldn't let a young civilian die at the hands of a wolf. Besides, the further they moved away from Stiles' vulnerable body and towards Chris' experienced, weapon-wielding arms, the better.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath as he finally descended the final step and stumbled off the staircase. He kept his right hand on the wall as he went on – not because he was still dizzy, and he was losing his balance, even though the smoke was getting to him, but because he could see nothing.

Stiles went on sheepishly, not really knowing what to expect. His heart beat quickly, and yet he wasn't quite sure why. Maybe it was the thought of randomly stumbling into Derek's dead body, or Andrew's very exposed fangs. Either one was enough to get his adrenaline going.

He took small steps and kept his eyes closed. His nose was running and his throat burned with each inhalation. He had to keep going though, if he wanted to help Derek get out of here. It was his duty, after everything they had gone through together this night. From the moment Andrew had shoved Derek into the cell next to Stiles', until his throat was almost ripped out, Derek had done nothing but try and help everyone else escape before himself. At least, he would have if his hands hadn't been bound by the handcuffs.

After a long trek in the darkness behind his closed eyelids, Stiles knocked his foot into something metallic, making a loud clang.

His heart jumped up into his throat and he instinctively opened his eyes. It was a bad idea, but having his vision, however impaired by the smoke and the tears it caused was imperative at this point. He squinted all around himself, just to be sure that he hadn't alerted anyone that he didn't want to alert – namely, Andrew. He saw that he, in fact, had.

Two icy blue specks of shimmering light stumbled and wobbled towards Stiles' general direction. He knew it was Andrew, and he knew that the wolfsbane was probably getting to his already maddened mind. Walking almost as unsteadily, Stiles kept going forward along the wall with long strides, so as to move quickly and not attract too much attention to himself.

He had almost succeeded losing Andrew when the wolf decided to jump. Stiles heard the sudden rush of movement and ducked. He rapidly ran away from the spot where Andrew had hit the wall and collapsed, realizing that he had finally been knocked out. For a second, he hesitated. Maybe Andrew deserved to be saved. Maybe he should drag the wolf out now, while he could. There was no telling how long it would be before he could find Derek. Both the wolves could be dead by then, and Stiles would have probably lost his senses due to the vapors.

But, he thought of Derek, somewhere, wheezing out his last breath and begging for help. He thought of the tall, muscle wall of a man rendered helpless by a simply pair of handcuffs. He thought of what Andrew had done to him, when he had touched Stiles just to get to Derek and when he held him by the throat with his claws. Maybe he deserved a second chance, but wasting time helping Andrew would mean Derek's certain death. Right or wrong, Stiles didn't care. He passed Andrew's body without anymore hesitation.

"Derek!" he openly called now that he didn't have anything else he wanted to hide from besides time. "Derek, where are you?"

Stiles picked up the pace, and his striding turned into a jog. He didn't dare let go of the wall, because the smoke was so thick, there was no way he would be able to find his way back to the stairs otherwise.

Suddenly, the wall ended.

He thrust his hand towards where he hoped to find concrete, but there was nothing save air. He thrust again, and his fingers painfully collided with something cold and thin. Stiles hissed, but wrapped his hand around it. It was a cold, damp bar. Probably made of metal.

He was in the room with the cells.

"Derek!" he screamed. "Are you here?"

He waited a few seconds, staring into the distance, and rubbed his eyes for the millionth time. The tears would not stop coming, but he was hoping beyond hope that he would be able to see Derek's crimson eyes just like he had seen Andrew's. He was only wishing that Derek wasn't going rampant, too.

Wishes, apparently, don't always come true.

It wasn't long before two dots of red appeared before Stiles, and he breathed out Derek's name in relief. It was also not long before Stiles started backing away in fear as he picked up on a low, constant rumbling. Derek approached to reveal that he had fully transformed into his wolf form, but it wasn't the friendly wolf Stiles found so immensely endearing. It was a rabid animal, baring its teeth and salivating vigorously; it was about to hunt.

"Derek," Stiles whimpered. He tripped over his own feet and fell backwards. He landed on his backside, and the shock was enough to get him to back away faster. Derek approached faster too.

"Derek, it's me," he cried again. It was impossible to get through to him, but begging was all Stiles had left at this stage.

The wolf let out a bark of warning and they both stopped. After it had looked Stiles up and down a few times, and estimated how many bites it would take to chow him down, it moved again until Stiles was forced completely flat against the cold ground and the wolf was standing right on top of him, staring dead into his eyes.

Tears streamed down Stiles' face as he looked into the eyes of his death.

"Please, don't hurt me, Derek," he sobbed. "Derek, please."

The growling grew louder and it was about to attack before Chris Argent's voice boomed from somewhere behind. Stiles didn't dare turn his head.

"Stop it Derek!"

The animal looked up at Chris, but its expression didn't change. The eyes of a predator were still relentlessly examining and flaring red.

Stiles heard a gun safety click.

"If you don't leave him alone right now, I'm going to shoot."

He remained petrified, and stared at the underside of the giant wolf. Under different circumstances, he would have been amazed at the strength its sinewy muscles radiated, but right now he was too busy being under their overwhelming threatening effect.

Nobody moved. Everything was still for far too long. Even the smoke in the air was starting to thin. Derek, however rabid, was surprisingly still standing strong. Stiles was getting too scared that Chris was going to take the shot. He had to do something to make sure that wouldn't happen.

Without thinking about it –and maybe that was a good thing, considering how things turned out in the end- in one swift motion, Stiles dragged the back of his hand across his face to wipe most of his tears away, and planted it deep into the wolf's hair, on the side of its neck.

The wolf made a sharp, shocked noise and looked back down into Stiles' eyes. The crimson irises were not those of a killer, but they weren't a friend's either.

"Derek, it's me, Stiles. Don't do this," he whimpered commandingly.

"Stiles," Chris warned.

Immediately, the wolf opened its jaws and went for Stiles' throat. They closed around the neck of his t-shirt and, while lifting one of its legs, the wolf whipped Stiles up and around its body so that he landed on top of it. The human threw out his hands, frantically looking for something to hold on to as he was violently being flipped about. He only found thick tufts of fur, and tightly held on for his life as the animal started sprinting.

Stiles bounced up and down as he rode the big wolf and shut his eyes tight. Not because the air and the smoke were getting in his eyes, but because he was too focused on holding on to keep himself from falling and being trampled to death. Instinctively, he wrapped his legs around the animal, though they didn't seem to disturb its wild running. Stiles heard a gunshot somewhere off in the distance, but it obviously missed its mark.

After a point, his chin was jabbing hard into the back of the neck of the wolf, and Stiles opened his eyes ever so slightly. He saw that they were ascending the staircase. They quickly broke out of the smoke and into the starlit forest. There were shouts and a few more gunshots, but the everlasting speed with which they rode, if not increasing, remained constant. Derek had not been shot once.

They still went on and on, and there were cars on their tail for a minute or maybe less, but they soon gave up. There was no way to reach Derek and Stiles, especially not while trying to maneuver big trucks in the dark, dense forest.

Stiles felt the cold air splash against his burning face and he remembered thinking it felt good. His heart still pumped like crazy, but he forced himself to pry his eyes open as far as he could without having to blink every two seconds.

The trees were speeding crazily past. Up above, the night sky was very obviously bright. It was probably a full moon. Stiles looked ahead, and saw nothing but trees, rushing to meet them. Derek weaved them both between them like it was nothing and kept sprinting forward. It was as if he was running for his life, or running to save one.

Stiles almost tried yelling out Derek's name, trying to figure out where they were going, or what he was trying to do. He knew Derek wouldn't hurt him. He had plenty of chances to do that before Chris showed up. However, the billowing wind stopped him. He couldn't form words loud enough to be heard over it, or with enough force to counteract the air forcing its way into his lungs every time he opened his mouth. So, he kept quiet.

For a moment, he felt at peace. He felt a sense of calm inside him, now that he was completely alone out in nature, and felt a rush of adrenaline go through him. Not the bad kind, the one that was caused by fear or anxiety; just a rush of excitement and thrill that Stiles hadn't felt in years. He thought he understood why people rode motorcycles.

And Derek. Even though he had almost killed Stiles before, now that the harmful wolfsbane was out of his system, and the fresh forest air filled his lungs again, he was his true self. And Stiles knew, wolf or not, Derek would never really hurt Stiles. He didn't know if it was because he saw a sense of understanding in its eyes back at the shelter, when Derek was stuck in his wolf form, or because Andrew had made Derek's emotions very obvious.

Either way, the only thing that poisoned Stiles' calmness was what Derek would want to do or say when they were going to stop running.


	22. Shower

"Is he dead?" one of the hunters asked.

"Yes, I think so. We're going back in as soon as the smoke clears to make sure," Chris replied coldly.

"What? No. Who's dead?" Allison piped up suddenly and jogged towards her father, buy the big, round doorway.

Chris looked through the corner of his eyes at his daughter. He pondered what he should do.

"Don't worry," he reassured her, unconvincingly. "Stiles is fine. He's probably pretty far away from here by now."

"Don't worry!" she gasped, incredulously. "Dad, you just killed someone, or at least had them killed! How do you expect me not to worry?"

He put the gun he had been fiddling in the back of the waist of his jeans, and looked her dead in the eyes. He sighed.

"Allison, he was a werewolf, and he was going to kill these kids," he tried to explain and gestured at Erica, Boyd and Isaac. They looked horrified and relieved. "He was going to kill Stiles and Derek Hale, too."

"Yeah," she scoffed as she crossed her arms and looked at him condescendingly. "A werewolf wanted to kill them. A werewolf wanted to kill us all!" she said dramatically. Chris abruptly walked to his car, opened the door and got in.

"Meet me back at the house! We have a lot to talk about!" he yelled over the roar of his engine as he skidded off. Allison grunted in frustration, but got in her car anyway. She followed her father.

It was quiet for a few moments, and Erica spoke.

"Are you going to kill us?" she asked meekly from where all three of them were sitting on the ground. The hunters all looked at each other, and for a moment it felt as though they were about to say 'Yes'.

"I don't know," one of them eventually confessed. "Call Victoria," he commanded one of his comrades and started packing the guns back into the cars. He was careful to leave one weapon for each hunter, in case the wolfsbane fumes were not enough to take Andrew down.

Stiles didn't dare speak. He just sat on the cold, concrete floor and leaned back on his hands, but not in a relaxed, nonchalant way. If anything, he was still anxious. He was trying to decide if he was glad or disappointed that it was so dark and he couldn't see much, but after the automatic lights in the parking came on, he realized he would have preferred if it had stayed dark.

He was sitting between two cars, neither of them Derek's, with Derek in front of him, still in wolf form. Slowly, and rather noisily, Derek's body started jerking, as if he were about to vomit. He certainly made the sounds to match the movements, but Stiles was glad to see that nothing came out of Derek's mouth. Werewolf vomit was the last thing he needed.

Possibly consciously, Derek started moving backwards so that the cars no longer hid him, and Stiles was not so sure if that was a good idea, considering what was happening to him. The heavy, black fur started disappearing, the long limbs and snout were retreating and Derek's tail went back into God-knows-where. He grunted and panted as he transformed back into a human, but more or less kept quiet. Stiles very quickly became blaringly aware of the fact that Derek had no clothes on him.

Stiles forced himself to look away and tried not to think about whether or not it was the sight of the transformation that interested him so much, or something else. He depended on his sense of hearing to tell him when the process was over, and sooner rather than later he heard Derek's voice.

"Okay," Derek said.

"Okay what?" Stiles asked.

"Okay, I'm done now," he replied. "You can look, by the way."

Stiles braced himself and turned around. Derek had strategically placed himself behind the back of one of the cars, so that he was only visible above the waist. He reassured himself that he was probably relieved and stood up. He put his hands in his pockets, not really knowing what to do, standing in a parking lot with a naked werewolf.

"I'm going upstairs," Derek said eventually, and pointed upwards. "Are you coming? It's okay if you want to go see your friends, or your dad."

Stiles was still too confused over the first part to answer the second.

"Upstairs where?"

"My apartment. I live here."

"Oh."

It was the only thing he could think of to appropriately sum it all up.

"So, are you coming up?" Derek asked again.

"Uh, I guess. I don't have my phone, or my keys, or my car so… There's not much else I can do, anyway."

Derek nodded understandingly.

"Would you mind going first?" he asked Stiles, and he could swear he could see Derek's cheeks go a little red. "I don't really have anything on," he explained, and waved a finger at his waist.

"Yeah, sure—of course!"

It was an awkward elevator ride.

"I have a spare key in that flower pot," Derek said from somewhere behind Stiles. He quickly located it with his eyes and the first thing he noticed was that is was big. He wondered if Derek expected him to dig through the whole thing with his hands to find a little key.

"Uh, where exactly?" Stiles asked, tensely.

"It's right next to the stem," he explained. Stiles fumbled at the base of the plant and felt the key. He dug it out and cleaned it off in his hands. When he used it to open the door, he was definitely not expecting to see what he saw.

It was practically a bachelor pad.

Everything was minimalistic and elegant. Even the walls, the furniture and the floors were different hues of white, black or gray. Splashes of dark red or purple here and there broke the monotony expertly, and Stiles wondered if Derek had done the decorating himself.

"Wow," he exclaimed after standing at the door for a good half a minute. "Nice place for an employee at an animal rehabilitation center."

"Yeah," Derek chuckled. "Thanks."

They both walked in, but Stiles didn't turn around. He was about to say something, but Derek spoke instead.

"Are you hurt anywhere?"

"N—No, I don't think so."

"Okay… You can use the shower if you want."

"I don't have any clean clothes."

"You can borrow mine."

Stiles stopped and thought for a few seconds. Derek was naked, and he was offering him the shower.

"I think you should shower first," Stiles suggested.

"It's okay, I don't mind waiting."

"Derek, you're naked, filthy, and probably bleeding. At least I have some clothes on. I'll just wait for you to finish."

Without speaking, Derek moved towards the hallway to the left, which probably led to a bathroom. Stiles noticed the movement out of the corner of his eye, but he didn't dare turn around, in case he got caught staring.

Soon enough, he heard the shower turn on. He sighed in relief. After he peeked through the slightly open door in front of him, and guessing that it was the kitchen, he walked through it. As he went through Derek's impressively neat cabinets, he eventually found what he was looking for. He grabbed a glass out of one of the cabinets and went to the fridge to pour himself a glass of water.

He drank in small sips, and the cool liquid soothed him inside. He was finally beginning to calm down. He wasn't really coming to terms with what had happened, not quite yet, but he was ready to start processing it. As he retold himself the story of the events of his birthday night, it almost sounded like a joke. But then again, that was the worst part. It was all true.

He had really been kidnapped by a crazy werewolf who was probably dead by now and he had really been almost killed by him but not before he had been also molested by him. Stiles cringed at the thought and the memory of Andrew touching him. He didn't think he would ever stop cringing at that.

He took a long sip. The coldness of the water calmed him again.

He then decided to focus on the positive things that had come out of this night. He was still alive, he still had all his limbs, and had finally turned eighteen. Andrew was finally out of his life, along with his bipolar, and apparently murderous, behavior. And, of course, who could forget the fact that Stiles had earned himself a raise?

He chuckled at himself for having remembered that last one. He looked in his pocket for the check that was his birthday bonus, but didn't find it. He wasn't really expecting to find anything there, considering when he had woken up in that horrid place he had nothing in his pockets but trash. Andrew had probably taken it, or destroyed it. Stiles realized his phone was probably still down there. He also realized it was going to be just about the millionth phone he would have to replace without telling his father.

But Andrew had said that his father had been calling him before. He had, in fact, called enough times that Andrew was forced to let Stiles pick up. He wondered if anybody else had called him. Maybe, Scott. Allison would probably explain to him that they should try and give Stiles some space, at least until the next day. Or, he hoped that she would. She probably didn't even know what had happened. Stiles wasn't even sure if he knew himself.

"You okay?"

Stiles jumped. He turned around. Derek had just walked into the kitchen wearing a loose olive-green t-shirt and black sweatpants. His hair was still wet and messy, but it wasn't long enough so that it looked funny; just endearingly scrappy.

"Sorry," he said, and sat in the chair opposite Stiles.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Stiles sighed.

"Are you sure?" Derek asked. He raised an eyebrow.

"Don't I look okay?" Stiles asked wearily. He would have spread his arms out to display his almost intact body, but he was too sore and tired.

"No, you look okay," Derek explained. "You just sound… uneasy."

"I sound uneasy? I've barely said two things," Stiles questioned with inquisitive eyes. Derek closed his eyes and smiled to himself. He had really big bunny teeth, Stiles noticed. And he smelled good.

"Right, I forgot."

"Forgot what?"

"I can hear you. And your heartbeat," Derek said and waved his hand in the general direction of where Stiles' heart hopefully was. "I can tell your emotions pretty well."

"Ah," Stiles exclaimed. Uneasy seemed more appropriate as the conversation went along, and he found out that his emotions were perfectly exposed for Derek to read. "That's… new. You're a really special kind of werewolf, aren't you?"

"No, we're all like this. It's just that some of us are better at reading people than others."

"But you can turn into that big wolf thing, and Andrew and that other guy couldn't do that."

"True, but that's only because I'm the Alpha."

"Oh, right, Alphas, Betas, and all the others. I remember this part."

Derek smiled at Stiles through the awkward silence that erupted. He was being very relaxed, very matter-of-fact. As if narrowly—and luckily –escaping death was and everyday occurrence. Just another Friday night.

"You can use the shower, by the way," Derek provided.

"Oh, Derek, no. I couldn't—"

"Come on, it's not like I'm giving you my life's savings. It's just a shower."

"I don't even have any clothes to change into."

"I told you, you could use mine. You're staying here anyway, might as well get comfortable."

Stiles' eyes found Derek's quick as lightning.

"I'm staying here?" he asked. His eyebrows were raised terribly high.

"Stiles, you've already told your dad that you're going to stay at Scott's. Even if you do go to Scott's, or even back home, you're going to have an awful lot of explaining to do."

He quickly realized Derek was right. He also realized he didn't really feel like going through Beacon Hills on a scavenger hunt for his car keys. And showing up anywhere in a black Camaro wasn't the smartest thing to do. Maybe staying at Derek's was his best option.

"Don't worry, I have a guest room," Derek reassured him.

Stiles looked at him while he considered his offer.

"Alright," Stiles accepted. He stood up. "I think I'll take that shower now," he went on.

"Good choice," Derek smiled. "The bathroom's down the hall, last door on the right. I put out some towels out for you, and you can just put your clothes in my hamper. I'll wash them for you."

"Uh… Are you sure?" Stiles whined as he thought about leaving his filthy underwear in someone else's hamper.

"Yes," Derek nodded. Stiles shrugged, not really able to find the energy to argue, and started walking. He was almost out of the kitchen when he decided he should ask something that had been bugging him for some time now.

"Derek?"

"Hmm?"

Stiles turned around. He was hesitant, but he thought there was probably not a better time than the present to ask an awkward question.

"Since you were staying at the rehabilitation center, and you saw Andrew every day, why didn't you attack him before any of this happened?"

Derek looked down, like he was ashamed. Stiles clutched the doorframe tightly. He hadn't meant to accuse Derek of anything.

"No, Derek, I mean—"

"Yeah, I know what you mean," he interrupted and looked up. "I just—I thought there was no way of taking Andrew out without alerting you or even Holly about it. I didn't want either of you to find out about this werewolf business unless it was absolutely necessary, because it could be very dangerous for both you and me. But, as it turns out, it would probably have been a lot better if I had done something a long time ago," he confessed.

"Derek, it was my fault, too. I should have listened to you. You'd warned me about him. There was no way either one of us could have known he was going to do all of this."

Stiles' words didn't seem to soothe Derek. He regretted ever opening his big mouth.

"I'll just head for the bathroom," Stiles announced, and walked off.


	23. Bed & Breakfast

Andrew was everywhere. He filled Stiles' peripheral vision in every direction. Even with his eyes shut tight, Stiles could see Andrew everywhere. He could see, hear and smell him over everything else. Worst of all, he could also feel Andrew's touch on his body.

The skin burned white-hot where his hands touched and Stiles whimpered but that was all he could do with Andrew's hand clasped tight over his mouth. He tried screaming but it was too much effort, too much to do while sobbing and panicking. So, he just focused on sobbing.

"Don't worry, you'll like it," Andrew's voice reverberated off everything in the room. Stiles started trying to kick and smack and flail, but his limbs were restrained. There was a force, gentle but strong holding him in place. Andrew's hand was down his pants, but it started sliding form the front to the back. Stiles shook his head as fiercely as he could.

"No," he cried. Somehow, he could speak now. "No, please, stop!"

"Stiles…"

"No, Andrew!"

"Stiles, come on!"

"Leave me alone!"

Stiles was finally able to move. He lashed out with all four limbs at the force drawing him closer, but he wasn't strong enough.

"Stiles, it's me! Wake up!" Derek commanded.

He finally opened his eyes and realized he was still in bed, with the sheets tightly coiled around his legs with Derek kneeling on the floor, holding him by the shoulders. He had a horrified expression, but he was quickly calming down.

"Derek…"

"You were having a nightmare," he explained. Stiles' heart was still racing. He looked around the guestroom and realized Derek was right. He didn't say anything; he let his breathing get back to a normal pace before attempting speech. Derek still looked massively worried.

"It's okay," Stiles finally said. "You should go back to bed."

"But you're—"

"Really, thanks. Don't worry about it," Stiles nodded thoughtfully. He really wanted nothing more for Derek to stay with him and at least keep him some company until he was calm enough to go back to sleep, like his father used to after his mother had died.

Stiles thought about that for a second. Maybe this year he had finally gotten closure about the death of his mother, but apparently now he had another demon to have panic attacks over.

Derek gave him a disbelieving look and got up and walked out of the room. Stiles became immediately aware that Derek was only wearing boxer-briefs and a t-shirt.

He flopped back down on his back and stared at the moonlit ceiling while he rubbed his temples. The neck of his t-shirt was drenched in cold sweat. He wondered if he had woken Derek up, and felt immensely guilty.

"Don't worry, I wasn't getting much sleep either," Derek said hoarsely and walked back in with a glass of water. He sat on the foot of the bed and offered the glass to Stiles, who sat up and took it. He didn't think he was ever going to be able to get used to someone practically smelling his emotions. He drank a little and set it down on the bedside table.

"Thanks," Stiles said. Derek gave him a tired half-smile, and hung his head down.

"What was keeping you up?" Stiles asked. Derek whipped around to stare at Stiles.

"What?"

"How come you weren't getting any sleep? What were you thinking about?"

"Um, to be honest, I don't think any of us are going to be getting a good night's sleep tonight," Derek chuckled.

"Yeah, I know. But why?" Stiles pressed harder. If Derek was going to practically read his mind, Stiles needed some insight into this man, too.

Derek sighed.

"Andrew was going to kill those kids, and my uncle, Peter. They're practically all the family I have left. I like to believe something like that could keep most people awake," confessed Derek. Stiles saw the moonlight glimmer in his eyes, and he noticed their beautifully unique hue.

After a few moments, Stiles decided he should open up a little bit as well.

"I was thinking about Andrew, but you probably already got that," he said morosely. Derek nodded, and shared his tone.

"Which part, when he hit you or when he almost killed you?"

"When he almost raped me," he declared blatantly. Maybe there should have been less force to his statement, but maybe Andrew shouldn't have shoved his hand down Stiles' pants, too. Derek looked away.

"Why did he do that anyway?" Stiles asked. The question hung in the air for almost a minute before Derek drew in a long breath to answer it.

"He wanted to get to me. He hated me. He did that to you because he knew that I'm attracted to you. Or that I was, at least," Derek answered. His voice was barely audible over a car passing outside.

"You're not anymore?" Stiles questioned. His heart jumped a little bit at the enquiry, and he realized Derek probably heard that. He also realized that he was nervous about the answer, but that was understandable. Having someone confess his or her feelings to you is not something to take lightly.

Derek didn't look like he wanted to give an answer at all.

"Stiles, it's not a matter of whether or not I have feelings for you or anybody else. Any kind of emotional connection that I have with anyone is something that people like Andrew can use against me and hurt the ones that I care about. It's best for everyone that I remain a little… further away."

"Derek, come on. You don't have to do that," Stiles tried to console him, or offer anything to ease the hurt puppy dog look on his face.

"Yeah, I actually have to. You don't get it, Stiles. Every time I let myself get attached, something terrible happens. People die, they almost die, or they get molested apparently."

Stiles didn't have an answer for that. He stared down at his hands sprawled in his lap. Derek was blaming himself for far too many things, but Stiles knew there was nothing he could say to make Derek think otherwise. Not because he had immediately become some kind of psychic, but because he had gone through the exact same thing with his mother. And he knew there was no solution than to wait for enough time to pass for the wound to heal.

All he did was move to his right, so that his side was pressed against the cool wall, and he only occupied half the bed. He patted the other half.

"Lay down," he instructed Derek, softly as ever, who shot him an incredulous look and went back to staring ahead and looking mournful.

"I'm serious," Stiles insisted. Derek looked back around, but he was more unsure than anything else this time.

"What?" Stiles asked. "You do know there's virtually nothing I can do to hurt you, right?"

Derek seemed to find that amusing, because he cracked one of the few smiles of the entire night and proceeded to stand up so he could lay down next to Stiles properly. Before he landed on the bed, Stiles pulled the sheets back so Derek wouldn't sit on them, and he lay down flat as well. Then, when they were both settled, he pulled the sheets over both of them.

"Stiles, I can't sleep here."

"Yeah, as if either one of us was going to get much sleep if we were lying alone in the dark."

Derek didn't answer.

"Just get some rest," Stiles said, more softly this time. They both shuffled around again, trying to get comfortable for sleep. By the end of the process, lying in a bed next to Derek, Stiles felt more comfortable than he had in weeks. He opened his eyes for a second, and he saw Derek staring back at him. They both closed their eyes and didn't open them until the next morning.

Something moved around. Stiles stirred in his sleep and repositioned his head, but his pillow moved again.

"Stop…" he groaned. The word was barely discernible, but it seemed to do the trick. His pillow was still again and he nuzzled against it like a small child.

"Stiles," a deep, gravelly voice said. He was already almost asleep again, so he didn't really notice his name being called out.

"Hey, Stiles," it said again. The pillow moved again. Stiles whined in protest.

"You should wake up," he heard someone say. He dragged his hand up to his face and rubbed his eyes as he sighed or yawned or both. He laid his hand flat on the pillow but it was… more firm, and warmer than he remembered it. He pried his eyes open a tenth of an inch and through his eyelashes he saw… well, he saw no pillow.

"Derek?" he asked after he took a few moments to process the sight. His brain had yet to fully start up. And he had yet to move from where he was lying.

"That's me."

"Is this you?" Stiles asked and poked what he hoped was an appropriate place.

"Why? Were you expecting someone else?"

Stiles propped himself up on his other arm. As he lifted his body, Derek's hand, which had been draped around Stiles' shoulders, fell back on the mattress.

"Why am I sleeping in your arms?" said Stiles. Derek sat up and pushed himself up so that he could rest his back against the head of the bed.

"Does it look like I know?" Derek asked and spread his arms in bewilderment, not expressed as vividly as it could have been due to drowsiness.

Stiles looked around. Nothing essentially bad had happened. Just… awkward.

"Wait—We didn't… Do anything else, did we?" Stiles demanded immediately.

"Do what?"

"Anything sex-related?"

Derek was amused enough to chortle.

"Believe me, if we did, you'd know."

So, Derek was funny and uninhibited when he was half-conscious. Stiles made a mental note of that.

"Well, aren't you just a little bit full of yourself…" Stiles mumbled.

"Don't worry, we just slept. It's not awkward if we don't let it be awkward."

"Yeah, that's a good plan," Stiles nodded groggily. Derek swiftly got out of bed.

"Coffee?" he called as he walked out.

"Please! Black!"

"So…" Derek began, not really knowing what to say. "How'd you sleep last night?"

Stiles dropped the piece of toast he was holding back onto his plate.

"I thought we weren't going to make this awkward."

"I'm not making this awkward, I'm just… curious," Derek mused, exaggeratedly offended.

"At least I had pants on…" Stiles mumbled to himself and nibbled at his breakfast sulkily. He had really insisted in not letting Derek cook everything himself, but apparently, he was "the guest". So he just sat at the kitchen table and watched Derek make eggs, toast and bacon.

"I don't think you grasp the concept of supernatural hearing abilities very well," Derek observed and narrowed his eyes. Stiles made a mocking face.

"You know, I wasn't going to tell you this, but you really used to piss me off," Stiles said half-jokingly, half-passive-aggressively.

"Stiles, I broke into your house. I was surprised you didn't have a screaming fit right then and there."

Stiles made a noise in agreement, and used his fork to shove a mound of scrambled eggs into his mouth. They both ate in silence for a while, and he made a mental note of asking Derek where he bought his coffee because, fuck that was good coffee.

"What happens to the other three? Your 'pack'?" Stiles suddenly piped up, and made air quotations with his bony fingers at the last word.

"I don't want to annoy them," Derek confessed nonchalantly. "They've just gone through a lot, I just need to give them some time to relax."

"So those hunter guys are just going to let them go?"

"I struck a deal with Chris Argent. His wife is their leader. If he keeps up his end of the bargain, those kids' lives should be safe as long as they don't harm any humans."

Stiles winced.

"That sounds like a crap life, having yourself bargained with like that."

"That's what we get for being werewolves. I just like to think of it as extreme racism," Derek explained darkly, keeping a low tone.

He looked at Derek then, who was staring out of the window, at the birds and the trees and time passing them by without any sympathy. He thought about what it would be like growing up in a house full of supernatural beings. He thought about actually being a supernatural creature. He also thought he really didn't want that for himself. Puberty and high school were hard enough.

Derek must have gone through a hell of a torturous life if could say things like that with no sympathy. Extreme racism was an understatement. They were being hunted like animals. Even the perks of being a wolf didn't seem like they could outweigh the negatives.

But, really, there was much more to Derek than just his wolf side. He was caring, and he was a leader. He was pretty sloppy at it, but he was trying, at least. And Stiles could really respect his sense of authority that he carried with him. He let out a small breath of a laugh as he took another bite of his toast when he thought of how different the emotions Derek's image in his mind brought with it before any of this had happened. Considering how terribly everything could have turned out, if anything, Stiles' life had improved.

He had, hopefully, made a new friend –or at least an ally. He also had a lot of new things to read up on during his spare time, although the reading material Wikipedia could provide him on the subject would probably be inaccurate, along with several websites owned by middle-aged men who needed to start getting over their teenage obsessions about the supernatural.

Stiles saw it all. Derek had truly been beaten down, but picked himself back up again and had become the hero of the story. Maybe he looked desensitized, and maybe he appeared cold and broody from a distance, but up close he was a wholly unique shade of concern and determination. Not to mention beautiful.

Then, Stiles had a sudden rush of embarrassment. He remembered the day at the pizza place. He remembered his conversation with Scott. He remembered that they had been talking about Stiles' attraction, which had been purely physical, towards Derek, who had been sitting no more than fifteen feet away. And for a werewolf, that was well within earshot. He wondered if Derek remembered that, or if that was when he had started looking at Stiles in a more romantic wave.

"What are you thinking about?" Derek suddenly asked. Stiles' mind was blank.

"Err… What?"

"Why is your heart racing?" Derek rephrased.

"Oh!" Stiles' mind spun at the speed of light trying to find a suitable answer, but came up with nothing. Nothing at all. Never in the history of his entire eighteen years on this planet had Stiles Stilinski been at an insurmountable loss for words, but the first time for that had picked possibly the worst time to happen.

"Nothing serious."

"It doesn't sound like it's not serious," Derek mused.

"Trust me, it's not."

"Well, trust me, whatever it is, you can tell me. There's a certain level of respect and trust that builds between two people after they go through a near-death experience together."

"Alright," Stiles began, and dumped his fork on his plate. Maybe he could turn this thing around. "I was thinking about what you said last night."

Derek's eyes narrowed.

"What specifically?" he asked.

"Well, when I asked you if you had feelings for me and you gave me a really melodramatic answer, I got to thinking and I started wondering what it really is that you see in me –or saw in me, anyway. I mean, a guy like you could get anybody he wanted, but you wanted a wiry teenage boy who works with animals?"

And that was when Stiles realized he loved himself for being kind of a nerd and reading so many books, because otherwise, there would be no way he could have talked himself out of that one.

Derek gave a soft smile and looked at his hands.

"Stiles, you really need to appreciate yourself much more because there's a lot more to you than just a wiry teenager. Or, a wiry adult, as of yesterday. You're passionate, and you're caring. More than you'll ever know. Maybe that comes from your dad, I don't know. But there's much more to you than what meets the eye."

Stiles blushed. He hadn't been expecting that answer.

They ate in silence, but it was comfortable.


	24. Confessions

"Hello?"

"Hello. Who is this?"

"It's Stiles."

"Oh."

Derek heard that welcoming reply, even from the other side of the room. A phone call from Stiles is not what Chris Argent was expecting was expecting that Saturday morning, and it definitely wasn't what he wanted. Nevertheless, it was what he was stuck with. Even though he could more or less hear the entire conversation, Derek went to have a seat in the kitchen, to give Stiles some privacy in the sitting room.

It's the thought that counts, Derek consoled himself.

He let the door swing shut behind him and took a seat at the table, facing the windows. He tried to look outside, maybe finally see something that could distract him long enough from the same few thoughts that had been constantly reappearing in his head.

Andrew. Andrew was one of those thoughts. It wasn't just the boy, though. It was his death, which Derek had brought around. He had bargained with Chris. He offered Andrew's head on a stick if he could ensure the safety of the pack. They were indeed safe, but Andrew… Yes, he was probably dead by now. Actually, Derek knew better than that. He knew hunters well enough to trust them to have buried his body, or burned it, or chopped it up and fed it to their dogs by now.

For the sake of covering up their tracks.

Stiles was the other prominent thought. Stiles, with whom he had gone through so much yesterday, who slept in his arms last night, who he had been trying to convince himself he was over by now. But he wasn't. He still had feelings for the boy. They had come out of nowhere, much too long ago. They were now rooted deep within his heart.

Maybe it was his quirky personality. His ability to either cheer up or annoy beyond belief everyone around him in five sentences or less. His everlasting energy, vibrant enough to put a new werewolf's stamina to shame. His rosy lips, his bony fingers, his perky nose, his thin yet firm body, his efficient buzz cut, his inquisitive eyes—

And Derek remembered what he had been telling himself last night; what had kept him up long enough to hear Stiles whimper in his sleep. It didn't matter. He couldn't act on his feelings. Even if he were in love with him, he couldn't do anything, because anybody Derek got attached to, they were a target. A means to an end. A way to get Derek on his knees. There was no telling what could happen, when Derek would finally snap and take a human life. He could never think of himself as a killer, but the tales his parents had told him; it happened to the best of them. There was no telling what the hunters would do to make Derek pay.

The thought of lying to Stiles, telling him that there was no more affection left, that the emotions of attraction were gone, solely for the purpose of keeping the boy—now a man—at a safe distance, it killed Derek. It applied a tight pressure around his chest and his breath caught in his throat and his heart beat just a little bit out of rhythm.

Welcome to the life of a born werewolf, he thought darkly. Full of anxiety, depression and frustration.

"So," Stiles announced as he walked in through the door, "the hunters have most of our stuff back; whatever they could find in that place that Andrew took from our pockets, anyway."

"Okay, good. We'll pick them up later, when I'm driving you to your car."

Stiles nodded in agreement as he sat opposite Derek. They were both silent.

"And?" Derek urged.

"And what?"

"That's it? You just talked about some keys and a wallet?"

"Oh right," Stiles realized suddenly that he needed to elaborate, although much of the time it wasn't necessary, considering that Derek was practically in his head. "Chris said he might have to talk to me, after he was done explaining everything to Allison.

"And trust me, she's demanding to say the least," Stiles warned. Derek scoffed.

"Anyway, long story short, he was just really tired and I was tired and we basically decided it wasn't worth it. Not anytime soon, at least. So, as far as 'the talk' goes, I'm off the hook," he chirped and, of course, made the air quotes.

"Really?" Derek asked, astounded. He was expecting Chris, or maybe Victoria, to demand Stiles come over right now so he could sit them both down on the couch—Stiles and Allison—and explain to them the dangers of wolves and the reasons they are not to be trusted under any circumstances. The fact that they were both aware that Stiles was under the care of an Alpha and were willing to let that go was… Unexpected.

"Why do you sound so surprised?"

"Stiles, you have to realize, these people are begging for a reason to hunt me down, and my entire pack. I would have expected them to make you promise that you would have nothing to do with me ever again, at least!"

"Well, I'm a big boy now. I think I can tell for myself who the bad guys are. Besides, how could anything so big and fluffy hurt me?" Stiles said as he gestured towards Derek, who appeared mightily confused.

"Excuse me?"

"When you were staying at the animal center, remember? How you used to literally cuddle your way into my lap every single afternoon?"

Derek looked down in embarrassment. He had been hoping that Stiles wouldn't bring it up.

"I was totally wolfed out, okay? I can't control my instincts that much," Derek defended meekly. His face was red, but Stiles still laughed at him. Silence fell again. It was less comfortable.

"Hey, you wouldn't happen to remember what I told you that day back at the center, right?" Stiles asked, with a tone and a face and nervous rapping fingers that screamed 'Please say no'.

"About what?"

"You know…" He was hesitant, and with good reason. Derek looked into his eyes. "About my family, and everything else."

Derek looked back down. He had seen so many things in his life, and he had seen his hell as flames curled around his house and engulfed everything inside it, but there was something about the hurt in Stiles' eyes that broke him every single time. He couldn't bear to look into those pained brown eyes.

"I do, actually," he confessed, his voice suddenly raspy. It would have been better to lie. "But we don't have to talk about all that, if you don't want to. I'm keeping it all to myself, don't worry."

"No, Derek, it's not that," Stiles cut him off with a tired smile. "I really don't want to talk about it now, maybe in the future, I don't know. I just meant… I meant to say sorry for unloading like that on you that day. You don't deserve to know all of that. It's just… Too much pressure for a person, even for you."

"Oh, come on Stiles, you had no idea it was me. There's no need to apologize. Besides, I'd gladly listen to your troubles any day."

Stiles breathed out a little laugh he didn't really feel like conjuring up fully.

"To be honest, it's times like these when I can't even remember why I used to hate your guts so much."

"I broke into your house and I tried to tell you what to do with your life."

"See, that wasn't a challenge."

Derek chuckled then, surely, and Stiles joined him soon enough.

"Can I tell you something else?" Stiles asked. Derek spread his arms in an expecting gesture. He soon heard Stiles' heart rate rise rapidly.

"I—I used to be attracted to you too. I mean, it was just physical, but yeah. And I think you kind of knew, 'cause you heard me and Scott talk about you in that pizza place once."

Derek's eyes widened instantly, but they went back to their normal size before Stiles noticed. Why was he saying this? Derek gave himself a second to think of a reply, and came up with nothing.

"I'm not sure what to say to that," he admitted nervously. "Or what you want me to say, at any rate."

"No, I don't want you to say anything. I just thought you should know, maybe it would make you feel better about having those feelings for me? I don't know, it was kind of a stupid idea."

Stiles could not stop playing with his fingers, and couldn't stop looking at them either.

"I don't think it would have bothered me if you'd acted on them, either. Before the whole breaking and entering thing, of course. Just for argument's sake," he went on, with a voice as quiet and soft as a light wisp of a crisp, springtime breeze.

"Right. Argument's sake," Derek repeated, just as gently. They both remained there, staring at their own hands and laps and shoes because looking at each other would mean acknowledging burning red cheeks and flushed expressions. Hearing Stiles' frantic heartbeat was frustrating enough for Derek.

As he sat in his own kitchen, living through what he thought should be the definition of awkward, Derek felt compelled to lighten the mood.

"Well, I guess I missed my chance, huh?" he joked and laughed, too loudly and too fake. Stiles faked a restrained chuckle as well, and finally looked at Derek after what seemed like an eternity. Apparently, his cheeks needed more than an eternity to return to their normal, non-flushed color.

"So…" Stiles began, desperate for a subject change. He regretted ever bring it up. "What should we do for lunch?"

"Oh, are you hungry?" Derek asked.

"Not really. You?"

"No, me neither."

"Okay."

Well, that horse just got shot in the face, stabbed in the gut, kicked in groin, set on fire and rolled off a cliff, Stiles thought.

"Oh, come on Derek," he finally burst out. "This doesn't have to be awkward either unless we let it be! Yeah, we used to like each other, so what? People get crushes all the time, it's perfectly understandable!"

"Yeah, I suppose you're right," Derek mumbled and furrowed his brow.

"What?" Stiles pleaded. Derek shook his head, indicating that he needed Stiles to elaborate further.

"You don't really look like you agree," Stiles explained.

"Don't worry about it," Derek smiled understandingly. "I'll get over all of this soon enough."

But Stiles didn't believe that. He saw through that smile, and he saw the pain Derek was trying to force back down and he saw the happiness he was failing to convey. Stiles knew it would take a long time for Derek to get over him. He didn't really know what Derek saw in him, but there was more than just a physical attraction. Maybe it was more than just a crush, and maybe it hurt Derek that Stiles thought of it as no more than just that. But he had said it himself: even if he did feel anything about Stiles, he wouldn't allow himself to do anything about it.

Stiles thought about living a life like that. He thought about never allowing yourself to get attached to anything, in fear of losing it and being left with nothing more than emotions of longing and desperation. He considered which was worse; shallow, meaningless relations that didn't leave you with any weaknesses, or affectionate connections through which you could easily be manipulated?

Then again, how safe would Derek be if he kept himself to himself? How much good would that do to him? Being alone tended to drive one insane, and begging for companionship. Maybe his entire lifestyle didn't leave Derek with any healthy option, and that was probably the worst part of it all. He couldn't have a satisfying life, not ever, but he chose at least to keep Stiles out of it as much as possible by lying about his obvious feelings.

Stiles wanted to do something. Comfort Derek in some way, show him that he didn't have to be entirely alone and push everyone away just to keep them safe. Being a wolf was definitely risky business, and being a human around a wolf was even riskier, but was it not worth it? The exuberance and contentment a strong, loving bond could give one. Was that not worth just a little risk? Wasn't that what made life worth living?

"Derek?"

"Hmm?"

Stiles got up from his seat and took small baby steps. He walked around the table until he reached Derek. He kneeled beside him.

"You shouldn't be forced to this: live alone forever. It's not healthy. You think you're keeping me safe, and you think you're eliminating all your weaknesses, but you're wrong. You should know, I'm a pretty stubborn guy. Even if you try to make me walk away from all of this, I'm still going to try and find out more about it. I'm still going to want to learn about wolves and I'm still going to want to be as involved and helpful as a human can be. So I'm still exposed to your dangers and threats whether you like it or not.

"What if we could have a normal life; well, as normal as it gets? What if I told you to do whatever your heart wanted you to do? What if there was nothing to lose?" Stiles asked. He stared at Derek and demanded an answer with his eyes. He could tell Derek was torn, and he could see that there were no words to describe what he was feeling.

To hell with words, thought Stiles.

He grabbed Derek by the back of the neck and pulled him toward his face. Their lips crashed together, and Derek drew a sharp breath through his nose. His inhibitions shuddered, and for a moment they whimpered in fear of the sudden rush of desire, and they finally crumbled away. Derek grabbed Stiles' face like his life depended on it, and kissed him like it did, too. It was a heated kiss, and it was long. The force of it brought tears to Stiles' eyes, but they didn't roll down his cheeks. They were just a way of coping with the overwhelming, white-hot flame that erupted in his chest and spread to his cheeks, his ears, his throat and the rest of his body.

Eventually, they broke apart. They both whimpered and gasped from the power of the kiss, but still held each other closely, and with their foreheads pressed together they marveled in the vigor of the newfound passion.

"Stiles…" Derek breathed heavily. "Are you sure?" he asked. Because he didn't have it in him to deny himself of what Stiles was offering, of which he had only just gotten a tiny taste. Only to make sure that Stiles was certain he understood what it meant to delve in this.

"Yes. Yes, I'm sure."


	25. Indefinable

"Stiles…" Derek breathed heavily. "Are you sure?" he asked. Because he didn't have it in him to deny himself of what Stiles was offering, of which he had only just gotten a tiny taste. Only to make sure that Stiles was certain he understood what it meant to delve in this.

"Yes. Yes, I'm sure."

Stiles looked deep into Derek's eyes and he saw many things. He saw lust, for reasons still unknown to him. For all he knew, Derek's feelings were largely based on a younger guy fetish, which would soon be satisfied and crumble away, bringing down those feelings with it. But Derek didn't seem like that type of guy; hopefully.

There was fear too. Fear, and pain mostly. Twisting his face and his gaze in a suffering expression of desperately clinging onto a last shred of hope. Stiles guessed that it was Derek's face as he tried to tell himself to back away, and leave all of this behind. Leave Stiles and all the potential trouble he could very well be stirring up in that same instant.

"I just—"

"Derek, I swear, if you say one more thing about wanting to keep me safe I'm going to punch you in the throat."

It was Derek's turn to look into Stiles' eyes, and size him up. A punch from a human wouldn't really do much, especially from one as skinny as Stiles, but it's the thought that counts.

"Okay, I'm sorry. I just need you to understand where I'm coming from with all of this—"

"You just don't shut up, do you?" Stiles concluded and went in for another kiss. It was just to get Derek to be quiet, but Stiles wasn't going to deny that he felt like half a minute was far too long to not be kissing those lips.

And then, Stiles was giggling.

"What? What did I do?" Derek asked immediately while his eyes zipped from one corner of Stiles' face to the other in no time, trying to find some kind of indication as to why he was having a giggling fit.

"No, don't worry," Stiles wheezed. He flapped his hand in Derek's face, to soothe his worry apparently. He randomly pointed at his own face, but it was still unclear. Derek decided to wait until it was over.

"It's your stubble, I've just never kissed anybody with stubble," Stiles admitted finally. Derek frowned like a small child who had just got told that his trip to Disneyland was cancelled.

"But I like my stubble," he whined and rubbed his chin without thinking about it.

"I know, me too," Stiles cooed as he stood up, only to sit back down in Derek's lap and run a hand through his hair. "Keep it, we'll figure something out."

Derek frowned with uncertainty. "Okay," he agreed reluctantly. Stiles looked at his constricted face and picked up a more serious tone.

"No, I mean it. We'll figure it out, all of this," he said meaningfully and gestured to the whatever little space remained between them as Derek pulled him even closer by looping his arms around Stiles' waist, who, in turn, had his own arms looped around Derek's shoulders. They both sat there for a little while, even in silence. It was warm and comfortable and even a little beautiful until Derek sniffed Stiles.

"What the actual fuck was that?" Stiles demanded and enunciated with the force of a crashing meteor. "Are you into sniffing and feet and stuff?"

"No," Derek laughed. "You just smell nice in my clothes!"

"So you are into sniffing?" Stiles examined as he narrowed his eyes.

"It's just that my scent with your scent—It's like a mark, of some sort. It's a werewolf thing, don't worry about it," Derek tried to reassure him.

"A mark?"

"Yes."

"A mark… Marking what?"

"That you're with me," Derek mumbled as he blushed. "It just feels good to smell you smell like me."

Stiles smiled warmly at the top of Derek's head, while he looked down. For a big, broad, surly guy, he sure did behave like a small child a lot.

"I'm going to ignore the creepiness of all of that and conclude that it's… Endearing," Stiles announced.

After a moment's hesitation, Derek spoke.

"We should swing by the Argents', you know, and pick up your stuff. Your dad's probably called you by now."

Stiles scrunched up his nose. He didn't want to leave Derek's, but he wanted to see his father. Maybe he could make up for last night's lost dinner. And Scott, too. He slowly realized how many people could have been looking for him last night, and how very possible it would be that they were still panicking over him simply disappearing. Anyway, after he made sure there no more loose ends, he could come back here. If he didn't feel too guilty about leaving his dad alone in the house again, he could sleep over, too.

"Yeah, you're right. I doubt that my phone's made it through all of that, though."

"Oh! H—Hi, Derek! And, Stiles!" Allison sputtered as she stood at the door. Her Saturday morning was taking a rather unexpected turn as it appeared.

"Allison, hello. Sorry to show up like this, but we won't be long. I just need to talk to your father for a few minutes," Derek announced. His tone was firm, but not aggressive.

"Yeah, okay. Come in," she invited them and waved her hand, forgetting that she was holding a glass of water, and spilled some of it. Thankfully, it all fell outside.

"Oh," she stated and stared at the small puddle for a few seconds.

"Allison?" Stiles called. Her head snapped up, and she plastered on an awkward smile as she stepped aside to let them both come in. Derek muttered his thanks and followed Allison's instructions to the living room, where Chris was reading a newspaper. Stiles was about to suggest sitting in the kitchen while Derek arranged all the formalities with Chris and retrieved Stiles' possessions, but Allison cut him off.

She hugged him tight enough that he could hear his joints pop.

"Stiles, are you okay? I was so worried last night! What the hell happened?" she said in one breath as she let him go. Stiles looked her up and down. She seemed like nothing was out of the ordinary, except for her concerned face.

"Depends on how much you already know," he answered cryptically, deciding to play it smartly.

"Stiles, I pretty much know it all by know," she reassured him impatiently. He sighed, and tried to think of a beginning for his story.

"Well, Derek's the Alpha wolf," he started, not really caring about piecing everything together coherently. "And this Andrew person, he was one of his Betas, but he went wild and Derek kicked him out of the pack, so he was an Omega, right?

"But Andrew got pissed at Derek for leaving him behind so he kidnapped me and the rest of their pack so he could mess with Derek's head, but he forgot about Derek's uncle, this Peter person. He practically came to our rescue at some point, which is when I took my shot and I called you to get your dad to come save us, which he did. And here we are," Stiles shrugged, as if he were retelling the most mundane series of event he had ever had to live through. Allison thought for a second before she considered uttering any follow-up questions.

"That doesn't explain why you ran off on Derek's back after all of that was over. Or why you were there in the first place. How in the world could Andrew get to Derek through you?" she went on incredulously.

"Derek was pretty hopped up on that wolfsbane smoke thing, it messed with his head, so he didn't really know what he was doing when he took me."

She looked disbelieving.

"And the other part?"

"Which part?"

"Why did Andrew think he could get to Derek through you?" Allison repeated. Stiles considered his options. He could either say that Derek had a crush on Stiles, or make something up. But Stiles and Derek had ran off together last night, and they had showed up together this morning, and apparently Stiles meant something to Derek for Andrew to be risking kidnapping the Sheriff's son. And on top of all that, Allison was smart. She was bound to figure something out eventually. Not to mention that he was still in Derek's clothes, just a size too large.

But for now, Stiles decided it was best to respect Derek's privacy. They had only shared a few hours together. Maybe he wanted to be more certain that their relationship was more than just the after-effects of an adrenaline-filled night before they went around telling everybody.

"We worked together at the animal center. We're good friends, actually," Stiles nodded.

"You don't look like it," she provided.

"No, we really are. He's just… Kind of quirky that way."

"Stiles?" a man called. Stiles turned to see Derek and Chris approach from around the corner. Derek's expression told Stiles that neither one of them wanted to stay there a second longer.

"Yeah! Good morning, Mr. Argent," Stiles greeted as he waved haphazardly while stumbling to the front door Derek was already opening. "I'm sorry we can't stay longer, but my dad's been looking for me, you understand, right?"

Without waiting for an answer, he added, "Okay, well it's been fun, see you later!" and he slammed the door. He mimicked Derek as he jogged to the Camaro and they both jumped inside. Derek threw a plastic bag in Stiles' lap to free his hands and speedily drive away from the house.

"Okay, why are we fleeing?" Stiles asked. Derek took a second to glance at Stiles, right after he had driven a few blocks and had returned to normal driving speeds.

"You act first and ask questions later," Derek concluded. "That's a pretty good instinct for a hunter. Or a pack member."

"A pack member? Seriously? A couple of hours ago you wanted to keep me as far a way from wolves as possible!"

"I know, I know. I'm just… Casually observing the facts."

Stiles mocked him with his expression.

"So, why are we running away?"

"No, no!" Derek exclaimed "Nobody's running. We're just in a hurry to get to your worried father."

"Of course," Stiles nodded gravely. Either way, he had a decent idea himself of why they were almost literally hunted out of there. Maybe Chris was getting inquisitive, a little overly inquisitive even. Maybe there were threats being flung each other's way. Maybe Chris was even starting to trail his way towards the newfound romance that was Stiles and Derek. In any possible case, Stiles decided he didn't want to know.

From the plastic bag, he only recognized his car keys as his own.

"And, as usual, I lost my phone," he said to himself, bitterly. More accurately he tended to break his phones rather than lose them. Drop them, drown them, sit on them, step on them, drop something on them, and on one occasion run them over. He was getting sick of seeing his father's disappointed face every time he announced that it was that time of the month: the time to head down to the mall and scour the electronics department for the most durable phone available.

"Don't worry, I can get you a new one," Derek reassured him nonchalantly.

"What?" Stiles immediately barked. "No, Derek, come on. That's way too expensive, there's no need—I'll just use some of the money I've got saved up from the animal center. I haven't really been using it that much, and worst case scenario: I'll borrow some from my dad. It's really no issue."

"Yeah, right," Derek scoffed as he pulled into the parking lot opposite the animal center. He stopped diagonally across three parking spaces right next to Stiles' Jeep and unlocked the doors. He grabbed a pen from somewhere under the handbrake and the old receipt in the plastic bag, scribbling something on it.

"Here," he said, and handed the receipt to Stiles. "This is my number. If and when you get a new phone, or even before that, give me a call when you want to meet up. As far as I can tell my phone's still alive so…"

Stiles looked at the digits and gingerly picked the piece of paper out of Derek's hand. He purposefully made a lot of contact. His eyes flickered back up to meet Derek's gaze, and he thought about leaning in for a goodbye kiss, but whatever they had, it was all still very, very new and fragile and intimidating just… Indefinable. He held his urge back, too scared to wreck this up, and stepped out of the car, feeling Derek's eyes stare at his back while he dragged his feet to his Jeep.


	26. Apologies I

Stiles pulled out the car key from the ignition and pulled up the handbrake, but sat in his Jeep for a little while longer. He stared ahead at the bare wall of his garage, but his mind was really elsewhere.

As his ears marveled in the sudden silence after the engine had gone quiet, he pondered what he was going to do after he walked through the back door. His dad would either be disappointed that Stiles ditched him, terribly depressed or just plain annoyed. In any case, there were no positive emotions on his father's end, and Stiles' entire body was being burdened with guilt. He hadn't really thought about his father too much. He was busy risking his life and crushing over a supernatural being.

Eventually, he forced himself to drag his feet out of the car and through the door, right after he locked the car. He heard the television in the sitting room.

He left his keys on the counter and glided through the door, wincing when he saw his father sleeping on the couch. He probably hadn't gotten a good night's sleep last night, with worrying about Stiles and all of that.

He picked up the remote and shut off the TV. At the sudden quietness, Stiles' father jerked away as if the machine had been abruptly turned on instead.

"Stiles," he simply stated.

"Dad, hi."

"Am I asleep?"

"No," Stiles offered. He would have been amused if he hadn't asked himself that question innumerable times in his life. He also would have thrown a whole fit about apologizing for ditching his father last night, but it didn't seem like the Sheriff had it in him. Hell, it didn't even look like he had it in him to walk up the stairs. "Dad, you look terrible, go get some sleep."

"Yeah, that's a good idea," he mumbled, and looked around as he smacked his lips. "What time is it?"

"I don't know, I think something like one o'clock." Mr. Stilinski nodded. He hadn't wasted too much of his Saturday falling asleep in front of badly designed game shows, and that was worthy of approval, considering how much he wanted to pass out.

"Dad?" Stiles called softly when his father didn't seem to be capable of making any kind of contact with the world outside his head. His dad hummed a reply.

"Your bed is upstairs. Go sleep. If you want, I can wake you up after a couple of hours."

"Okay, yeah."

And, like that, his father was half-walking, half-crawling up the stairs. Stiles had two hours, and maybe a little bit more before he had to get his dad to wake up and apologize to him, as well as coming up with a decent excuse as to why it was so important to be at Scott's house instead of his own, with his father on his birthday night. Not that he would demand one, or even ask for one, but Stiles felt like he owed it to him.

He turned around and headed back for the kitchen, to grab his keys and head out. He needed to get as many heart-twisting conversations out of the way as possible, in the shortest amount of time. So, Scott would be the next person to whom he would have to explain himself. If Allison hadn't already bombarded him with strange-sounding, incoherent strips of information.

While he walked towards the kitchen door, he saw that the sliding doors to the dining room were open, and that the table was still set from last night.

Stiles had called Scott from his home telephone before he left, and he learned that Scott was having lunch with Allison. He asked if they were having a date, and if it would be weird for Stiles to butt in. Scott was reluctant to invite him, but he did it anyway. Stiles felt like there were different reasons for which Scott didn't feel like talking to him.

He parked his Jeep at the diner, and looked at dashboard.

"Got to get gas," he told himself, and got out, as if nothing serious was happening. He thought about the night Derek had rushed him to the hospital and then brought him here, but he also told himself that it was neither the time nor the place to be thinking about Derek. He knew he was acting like a fourteen-year-old schoolgirl, but he didn't want to seem too clingy and give any excuses for Derek to turn everything around, and tell him that they were both better off apart; especially when he was sure that that wolf was practically looking for a reason.

Stiles walked through the diner door, and the bell jingled. He enjoyed the sound: it was familiar. Before Stiles was tall enough to reach over the counter and make sense of a cookbook, his father brought him here all the time. Especially right around the time of his mother's passing, when neither one of them really felt like cooking, or even eating. On the bad days, they got half a plate of fries and shared it. It was more to humor themselves than to satisfy their hunger.

"Hey, guys," Stiles greeted as he spotted his friends. The two of them had taken a booth for four, and Scott was sitting with his back to Stiles. He turned around to look as soon as he heard the voice.

"Hi, Stiles," Allison replied. Scott mumbled a 'hi', and went back to his food. Allison moved over in her booth to make room for Stiles. They both knew it wouldn't be good if Stiles sat next to Scott, not when his scowling ratings were off the charts. So, Stiles sat next to Allison, who wasn't very comfortable herself, considering their conversation earlier that day, but she kept quiet anyway. He liked that about her. She knew how to separate her emotions from her actions. Sometimes Stiles wished Scott shared that trait, but then he thought that the Scott he knew and loved wore his heart on his sleeve and was likely to listen to it over his brain any day.

"So, everything looks good. Have you guys been here long?" Stiles asked. He was desperate to get the conversation going.

"Stiles?" Allison pressed.

"Hmm?"

"Get to business."

Stiles looked at Allison, and felt a strange inclination to do exactly as she asked. Or commanded.

"Okay, uh… Scott?"

"Yeah?" Scott replied. He looked up from his plate for a second, with a gaze that screamed 'I want quiet!'

"I…" Stiles began, and gestured with his hands, but left it at that. He had no idea what he was trying to say, or how to phrase it, so he decided just to blurt out whatever was on his mind, sans the werewolf-containing details.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm sorry, Scott. I know you had a lot planned for last night, and I know that I bailed like a dick, so I'm sorry. And I honestly do mean that."

Scott examined him with his eyes. He didn't look like he had been prepared for a serious conversation, like he was desperately clinging to a last hope that he could have his lunch in peace.

"Stiles, I really don't want to talk about this because I'm just going to sound selfish, arguing with you about doing what you wanted on your birthday, and then I'm just going to feel like shit and—"

"Like you don't already feel like shit."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Scott asked snidely.

"I know your feel-like-crap face. I don't want you to not tell me about this, and a week from now you go and throw a huge angry tantrum at me. If you have something to tell me, you should say it now, and let me tell you that you have every right to be selfish because I know that you had a lot planned and I screwed it all up."

"Well, maybe we should wait until you schedule clears up. Maybe you have somewhere else better to be in five seconds and you forgot to let me know."

"Okay, when I said to tell me what you have to say, I meant tell me outright. Don't drag it out in bitchy comments."

Scott rolled his eyes.

"I just want to know what it was Stiles! What the hell was so important that you had to ignore your best friend and everything he had planned for your eighteenth freaking birthday, without even sending a goddamn text or picking up the phone?" Scott demanded passionately, but somewhat discreetly. Of course, that nosy waitress with the red hair was already looking at their booth. Allison was trying to make herself as small as possible.

Stiles looked at Scott with hurt in his eyes. He was letting his friend down, and there was nothing to do about it. He knew he could trust Scott with a secret like werewolves, but the thing was that it wasn't his secret to give. Derek had trusted him enough to let him go off alone and try to make amends with everyone, and he couldn't betray that trust. He felt a giant fist crush his lungs as he told himself that he would have to keep from Scott the one thing for which he had asked.

"Scott, I'm so sorry, but I can't tell you that."

"What?"

"I can't tell you what happened last night. It's not up to me, it's not for me to say."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Scott exclaimed, not bothering to keep his voice down. "It's not for you to give me a damn excuse?"

Stiles looked down. "Yes," he said, without looking at Scott's eyes.

"You know what I was doing, Stiles? I was over at my place, with everyone, waiting for you to get there so we could start the surprise party. Me and Allison, and Jackson with Lydia. Hell, I even got Danny to show up, and he brought this kid along, this Jake guy. Jake said that you and him had talked a couple of times on Facebook, and he really liked you, and Danny knew about it, so I invited Jake, too!

"And I knew you didn't want to go out and do anything too much, so I sat down and found a shitload of things for us to do so we wouldn't be bored! My mom wanted to call your dad and find out where the hell you were because you were to preoccupied to answer, but I wouldn't let her because I'm not your fucking pet Stiles, and I wasn't going to be chasing you all over town! After everybody took off, I just sat in my room and did nothing for half an hour, literally like a mental patient! And that's how I spent my best friend's birthday night!"

Somewhere along the way, Stiles had lost his voice.

"Scott…"

"What, Stiles?"

Stiles looked up into Allison's eyes. They were heavy with guilt, because she knew where Stiles was last night, and she knew what happened to him, and if Scott only knew he would be hugging Stiles so tightly. But neither her nor Stiles had any right to go around telling their friends about werewolves. So she played with the button on her blouse and kept quiet.

"You can't imagine how terrible I feel. I had no idea you did all of that for me."

"Yeah, well, now you do."

It was silent for a little while, and Stiles tried to come up with an apology. A good one, too. One that would at least cure Scott's anger without letting too much go. Stiles was dying to tell the truth, but he told himself he would just have to give him the next best thing. No lies, but no details either.

"Look, I'm not going to try and get you to believe that last night wasn't my fault, because I'm not exactly giving you any proof of that. But I'm going to tell you that if it were up to me, I would never have done that to you. I missed my dinner with my dad too, you know. I went home and found him half-asleep on the couch because he'd stayed up all night worrying about me.

"Scott, you know me. You know how much you guys mean to me, and my dad too. You know that if I had a say in what happened yesterday I wouldn't have left you hanging and hurt you all like that, because you're like a brother to me, and you know that too. I'm sure you're not really inclined to believe me, but this is all I have Scott. I'm telling you the truth."

"Scott?" Allison finally piped up. Scott's gaze darted to her. He had almost forgotten she was there. Throughout the course of Stiles' speech his face had gone from angry to twisted to hurt to just plain confused. She decided now was the time for her to stick her neck out.

"Does it really matter what he was doing last night? He said it wasn't his fault, and he feels terrible."

"Wait, do you know more than I do about last night?"

"No, how would I?" she lied. Scott deliberated heavily. All of his efforts to make his best friend's eighteenth birthday a memorable one had gone to waste, and he had been completely ignored and taken for granted. Stiles was giving him no reason as to why everything had happened the way it did, and was asking him to simply trust Stiles that it was out of his control.

Scott furrowed his eyebrows and looked at his burger, then at Allison's club sandwich. Under different circumstances, Stiles would have guessed that he was just considering which of the two he preferred. Unfortunately, he knew that Scott was simply searching for somewhere else to look, besides at Stiles.

"Scott?"

"Fine."

Stiles looked at Allison, confused.

"What?" he asked.

"I said, fine. I accept you apology, but I don't like it and I'm not happy about it, or what happened last night. But I accept it anyway, because I trust you. And because you're going to make it up to me tomorrow."

Stiles knew he was on thin ice, but he couldn't help but feel relieved.

"Do you mean that in the biblical sense?" he asked. Scott shot him a look harsh enough to make him put up his hands defensively and apologize a hundred times more in a single second.

After that, Stiles decided to stick with them. It was awkward at first, when Scott was trying his hardest to remain mad at Stiles, but he couldn't help it. Stiles knew how he worked, how to make him laugh and how to make him forget about everything else. He ordered a burger, too, and he even joked with Allison. He was not certain at all about what she was feeling.

Definitely confused, and somewhat angry. Stiles hoped that anger wasn't directed towards him. But, she was happy too, and after enough time had passed, it was comfortable and easy and just plain fun to be around his friends again. He knew he would have to come up with something good for Saturday night, but that could wait because he still had his father to get to and he knew that if getting Scott to get over everything that had happened, it was going to be a thousand times harder do that with his father.


	27. Apologies II

Once upon a time, Sheriff Stilinski woke Stiles up every single morning, drove him to school, reminded him to pick up his lunchbox from the back seat and dropped his son off. But that was long ago, and during these past few years many things had changed. Roles were being reversed quickly enough that they didn't even know who was supposed to be taking care of whom. It was just a big blur, and the responsibility seemed to fall on the one with the least weary expression. In this case, Stiles was the one to rouse his father.

He sat at the foot of the bed and watched him sleep in the dark for a minute. He was so peaceful, and he didn't want to take that away from him, but his dad had asked him to, and it was now well past three o'clock.

"Dad? Dad, wake up."

It took a few tries to rouse the Sheriff from his deep sleep, but eventually he groaned and rubbed his eyes before he sat up and looked at Stiles with a completely unreadable face. Maybe he was still too sleepy to care about anything enough for it to show on his face.

"It's three thirty," Stiles announced. He might as well have kept quiet; the response would have been the same.

"I made coffee," he also said. This time, Mr. Stilinski found the necessary motivation to swing his legs over the edge of the bed and stumble all the way to the kitchen. He poured himself a cup and sat at the kitchen table. Stiles mimicked him, and sat opposite him. They both drank their coffee black. Stiles always insisted that if they were going to be drinking so much caffeine, they might as well try and make it less harmful.

They sat in silence for some time, and Stiles hoped that his father appreciated it, and didn't think of it as unbelievably awkward. He was certain he would like someone giving him a few minutes to fully wake up after coming at him. But he couldn't wait any longer.

"Dad, can I tell you something?"

"Sure," he grumbled. Now that it was finally time to come clean, it seemed like a lump in Stiles' throat was keeping him from saying anything.

"I'm really, really sorry," he finally confessed, and heard his own voice break. "I didn't want to leave you alone last night."

His father looked him in the eyes, then grabbed his cup with both hands and looked down at the coffee. He didn't answer for some time, and Stiles had to tell himself to stop biting his lips before he drew blood.

"Stiles, I…" He sighed. "I don't blame you. There's no need to apologize. There's no harm done."

"Dad, you were sitting here all alone waiting for me, and we had plans, and I ditched you. How is there no need to apologize over something like that?"

"You know, you don't give me enough credit sometimes. Don't you think I remember how it is to turn eighteen and go out with your friends? Hell, at that age, your friends are more important than anybody else, probably. Stiles, I understand," his father said with a voice dripping with disbelief. Disbelief at his own words. He might have looked like he didn't care about what happened, but it was much too obvious that he felt hurt and ignored and unimportant. If anything, Stiles thought it was the most unfair thing that after everything that happened the previous night this is what he came home to, but there was no other alternative.

"Well, that's a big, fat lie," Stiles exclaimed.

"No, Stiles—"

"Lying, again! Dad, I'm a teenager, I'm an expert on lies."

"Technically, you're not anymore. Not since yesterday."

Stiles sighed. Why couldn't this day just end?

"Then why is the dinner table still set? I mean, the only thing left would be for you to leave the food on there."

"So I didn't feel like putting everything away last night, Stiles. What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe you wanted to make a statement?" Stiles was finding it hard to keep his voice down. Somehow, it was even more heartbreaking to listen to his father pretend like nothing had happened.

"A statement about what?"

"You wanted to show me that you went through a lot of trouble to prepare dinner, and it really meant a lot to you, and you know it. Why won't you just admit that?" Stiles demanded. He had to remind himself that fighting was the last thing he wanted to be doing.

"Stiles—"

"You know, I was thinking about you all night last night, feeling terrible about leaving you alone here, and the first thing I did was come home to apologize and I found you nearly passed out! Blind deaf infants can tell that it really bothered you that I wasn't here last night! I get it; I'd hate it too. What I don't get is why you won't just let me tell you how sorry I am."

"If you felt so terrible last night, why weren't you here then?" his father suddenly spat. Something Stiles had said made him give up on his cool façade he was failing at holding up. He pointed and squinted and talked like Stiles was a criminal. He took a few seconds to recover before he answered with the worst possible thing.

"It wasn't really up to me, dad."

"It wasn't up to you to leave Scott's house? What, did he have you by the neck?"

Well, someone did, thought Stiles.

"No, it was just—Something really bad happened to him," Stiles lied. Maybe that was the thing that broke his heart most of all. The lying. "I couldn't just abandon him there. He only asked me to stay there because he didn't know we had a dinner thing."

"Did it even occur to you that I was worried out of my mind, that I barely slept last night?" Mr. Stilinski yelled as he got up on his feet. "I had to call you three times in a row, only to have you pick up and tell me that you decided to stay at Scott's! Goddamn it, Stiles, you're eighteen now! That childish, immature, bailing-out-at-the-last-minute crap was the one thing I always told you not to do. I raised you to stick to your word! I can't even count how many times I've told you that a man only—"

"Only has his word and his family to back him up?" Stiles finished, with his heart screaming and his eyes burning. As he shook his head, a tear fell down his cheek.

"Dad, I'm so sorry," he whimpered. He didn't usually cry, not even during his worst fights with his father. This was different, though. This was more than just a fight. This was Andrew destroying every good thing Stiles had in his life, even now, even after everything was finished; because, really, it all came back to Andrew.

Mr. Stilinski sat back down and rubbed his temples. Stiles sighed and looked at him. He never meant to cause all of this, and he hated himself for getting into this mess. Every wall suddenly came closer and pressed against his chest. The tears fell freely and his breathing was ragged and uncontrollable. He grabbed his keys and ran out of the kitchen.

"I need some air," he called and slammed the back door as he rushed out.

He slammed his foot down on the gas pedal and the Jeep engine roared. Trees whizzed by and the brisk afternoon air hit his face through the open window like a full-force punch. Stiles really wished for a full-force punch. Maybe it would knock him out, and he would wake up when it was all over. He also wished the wind was colder, so he could forget about everything else and focus on the slight pain it gave his skin, like an icy shower.

It dried his tears, at least.

He thought about where he was going and he realized, he didn't know. He just followed the road, and he thought about going back, until he also thought about walking back in the kitchen and looking at his father wishing that Stiles had done practically everything different last night. Wishing that his son wasn't such a screwed up kid who could barely focus enough to write a college application essay.

Stiles recognized some of the buildings, somehow, and he remembered that he was near Derek's street. Since that seemed like the obvious choice, and because he really wanted to bawl into someone's arms right about now, he set course for Derek's building. He tried to forget about everything else and focus on looking for familiar landmarks. He could have a breakdown after he made sure he wasn't lost.

Eventually, after a good twenty minutes, Stiles was below Derek's apartment complex. He parked his Jeep haphazardly without really worrying about petty things like parking tickets and slammed the driver's door behind him before he stormed towards the front door.

He pressed the button on the intercom, and a few minutes later, he got a reply.

"Hello?" mused a familiar voice.

"Derek, it's me. Can you buzz me in?"

There was no reply. Just a loud noise and the snap of the door opening. Stiles pushed it open.

After he accidentally took the elevator to the wrong floor, he climbed the stairs for another flight and rapped on Derek's door impatiently.

"Hi, there, Stiles. Why the long face?" Peter greeted. Stiles stood in the doorway and stared. He would have been impatient to find out where Derek was, or what Peter was doing here, but Peter didn't seem like the kind of person who liked being pushed around. Or even allowed it.

"You're—"

"Yeah, yeah, Peter Hale, Derek's uncle, and the guy who saved all of your asses, if I may remind you?" Peter interrupted as he turned around and walked towards the living room. Stiles took the open door as an invitation, and walked in before he closed it behind him.

"Yeah, I never got to say thanks," Stiles said softly as he rubbed at his cheeks. He was glad to see they were dry. He didn't want to seem like a fool in front of someone who seemed so… Intellectual.

"It's no problem," Peter admitted as he sat down heavily in one of the black armchairs. There were two of them, and one matching black couch surrounding the coffee table. In front of Peter was a crystal glass of cognac, and an equally refined-looking bottle of it. Behind him was a minibar.

"My nephew tends to get himself in all sorts of trouble," he went on. "Drink?"

"No, thanks," Stiles said morosely and sat down on the identical chair facing Peter.

"I take it you're looking for Derek?" Peter asked, without hesitation.

"Yeah."

"I take it you feel like absolute shit."

Stiles looked up, and stared into his eyes. He didn't care that he was staring.

"I do, actually."

"I'm not going to ask you what's bothering you, because frankly, it's none of my business. Also," he said and leaned in, "I don't really care," he whispered and laughed to himself.

Stiles shot him a look, which was more confused than offended.

"I'm narcissistic like that, you'll get used to it," Peter consoled him. "Derek's going to be home pretty soon, by the way. If you're here to steal something, I'd suggest you do it now."

"Wait, you live here?" Stiles asked, ignoring that last comment.

"No, but I wouldn't mind the view from that balcony."

"Then, how come you're here?"

"He has good taste in snacks."

Finally, there was a noise from the door and it opened as Derek walked in, holding a paper bag of groceries.

"Stiles!" he exclaimed, surprised. "And Peter," he whined. "This can't be good."


	28. Apologies III

"Hey, Derek," Stiles greeted as he turned around in his seat. Derek frowned at him.

"You feel terrible. This really can't be good," Derek observed.

"Let me help," Peter offered as he stood up and rushed to the door to relieve his nephew of his burned.

"Like hell!" Derek exclaimed and clutched onto the grocery bag for dear life. "And have you eat half the bag on your way to the kitchen?"

"You know, when I eat all the unhealthy foods in your apartment I'm really helping you to maintain your physique."

Derek scoffed and ignored him, almost flung the bag onto the kitchen table through the door and went and sat on the sofa, as close as possible to Stiles.

"What happened?" he asked concernedly.

"It's my dad," Stiles confessed. He didn't really care about formalities, or asking Peter to give them some privacy. All he did, after all, was return to his seat and sip lightly on his drink. Derek's eyes however, widened.

"Where is he? Is he okay?"

"No, he's fine Derek, he's just angry at me for not showing up yesterday. He's really obsessive with being honest and sticking to your word, neither of which I'm accomplishing."

"I thought you went straight home to talk to him," Derek half-asked, not really sure if his memory served him right.

"No, I did. But he wanted to sleep, so I went and found Scott instead. Turns out he threw me a party, by the way. He took it kind of harsh at first, but it was pretty easy to convince him to forgive me, what with Allison there, and everything."

"Is there any chance that Scott found out about anything he shouldn't have?" Derek questioned with an edge to his voice.

"No," Stiles whined at Derek's implication that he just couldn't keep a secret for twenty-four hours. "And neither has my dad. I just…" he sighed and slumped back into the chair. "I just wish I had a decent reason to give to people besides 'It wasn't my fault', you know; or maybe just a big fat lie. Just anything to get the disappointment of his face," Stiles spat.

"Stiles…" Derek groaned in pain. "I'm so sorry," he confessed with a look on his face that said that he was about to burst into tears. Even Stiles didn't look that close to a cry, even if he was gravely pained too.

"About what?"

"I wish I could let you tell him the truth, but to be honest, the chances are that he won't really believe you unless I'm there to show him. And if we get him involved in all of this, it's just going to be another thing he has to worry about. Not to mention that I'll have another threat on my mind besides the hunters, who I can barely keep at bay."

"I know, I know…" Stiles quickly consoled him. It wasn't enough that he knew Derek had to look out for him and protect him like a useless piece of meat whenever there was danger, he didn't want to feel like even more trouble and force Derek to do something he didn't want to do. "I'm not—"

"Not to butt in," Peter piped up, "but it doesn't seem like your father is big on the talking. Maybe you could actually do something instead of apologize repeatedly."

Derek and Stiles looked at him with confused frowns. Stiles thought about it for a minute.

"That's actually not a bad idea, you know. Maybe I can make lunch and everything for him on Monday, after he comes home from work. Make it up to him, you know? Maybe showing him is better than telling him, since telling him won't really play out that much better than where I'm at now," Stiles admitted morosely. It was true. This was one of those cases where actions spoke louder than words. Stiles just had to make sure his actions spoke loud enough.

"No," Derek said abruptly.

"What? Why not?" demanded Stiles.

"That's going to take too long. Let's just tell him," Derek sighed. He was reluctant to speak those words, but eventually he was certain of his decision.

"Derek, you don't have to—"

"I want you to tell him everything," Derek instructed, and passionately too. "I want you to give him the truth as soon as possible. I'm coming too, to prove it to him. Even if he does get over this, you know you're always going to be thinking about the fact that you never really gave him a solid apology, you just got him to stop yelling at you.

"Stiles," he groaned emphatically. "Let me do this. After all, it's the truth."

Stiles looked into Derek's eyes. They were staring into his own, sprinting from left to right, looking for a hint of temptation to tug at, to get Stiles to accept.

"Why do you want this? I thought you'd said that nobody could find out about wolves, that it was going to be catastrophic."

"Well…" Derek began, and looked around in his head for an ending to his sentence. "This is worse," he completed and gestured at Stiles' eyes, still red from crying.

Stiles closed his eyes as he felt the blood rush to his cheeks. He always forgot that Derek's feelings for him were much older, much deeper. He got overwhelmed for a second, and felt the familiar heat in his chest hinder the pattern of his breathing.

"Alright!" Peter interrupted their moment. "I think it's time for me to start talking. Derek, how sure are you about this?" he warned and arched his eyebrows.

"Very," he growled as he stood up and put a hand on Stiles' shoulder. His uncle sighed and shook his head as if he were about to say 'Oh, Derek, you silly boy…'

"Can I at least join you?" he requested. Stiles looked at him.

"You want to come meet my father while he's very tired and very close to his handgun and tell him your kind was responsible for his son's almost-death?"

Peter shrugged sheepishly.

…

"Relax, it's going to be fine," Derek instructed Stiles as he parked the Camaro opposite the Stilinski residence. He pulled up the handbrake, turned off the engine, got out and pulled the seat down for Peter to climb out of the back. Derek had insisted that Stiles sit next to him.

They all exited the vehicle and crossed the street.

Stiles sighed heavily. He hoped he could exhale some of the anxiety away, but to no avail. Too soon, Derek knocked on the door.

"I thought you had your keys…" Mr. Stilinski mumbled as he opened the door. It almost looked as if he were going to start saying something else, but as he looked up words abandoned him. Instead, a very confused and surprised look found him.

"Dad," Stiles began. "This is Derek, and Peter. Peter is Derek's uncle. Guys, this is my dad," he introduced them all.

"Hi," the Sheriff greeted, still in a daze. "Come in, come in," he exclaimed, quickly recovering. He opened the door as widely as possible and waved them frantically inside. Stiles sheepishly entered, followed by an awkward Derek and an ever-calm Peter.

"Can I get you anything?" Mr. Stilinski offered as soon as he had closed the door. He shoved his hands in his pockets and shifted uncomfortably.

"Actually," Derek began. "We're here to talk."

"Talk?"

"Yes. We're both very much aware," Derek said and gestured towards himself and Peter, "that you and your son had a birthday dinner planned for last night, which he missed. I realize that it's rather personal, but I really wanted to talk about it because I'm greatly at fault here."

Stiles had been awkwardly staring at his shoes until the last comment, when his head finally jerked up.

"What?" he asked.

"What?" echoed his father.

"I'm sorry, he's not that good with words," Peter piped up. "What Derek is trying to say, Sheriff Stilinski, is that you shouldn't blame Stiles for whatever happened last night. We were with him and, ultimately, it's because of us that he was unable to join you last night. We're both very sorry for any trouble we've caused and we're here to answer any questions you may have."

Stiles' father did not seem as reassured as Peter's words were meant to make him feel. Neither did Stiles himself.

"How was it your fault?" he asked. His dad was probably about to ask a pretty similar question, anyway.

"Stiles, think about it," Derek answered. "If you hadn't met us, would any of it had happened?"

"Would any of what had happened?" the Sheriff demanded.

"You might want to sit down," Peter suggested.

…

After it was all done, Mr. Stilinski sat on the couch, tightly clutching the cushions with his fingers as he stared ahead wide-eyed. Derek and Peter had both already returned to their human forms.

Stiles was standing near the kitchen door, as far way from it all as possible. However, he knew a few feet wouldn't save him. Either his dad was going to be massively confused, or terrified.

"As you can see, Mr. Stilinski, we weren't lying. Everything we had said was true," Peter concluded. He and Derek both sat in the two armchairs. They didn't dare sit closer to the Sheriff. "However, we cannot reveal the identity of the hunters we mentioned, because very simply, it's a secret they have kept for a long time now."

"Okay," he replied quietly.

"Dad?" Stiles called as he finally approached the scene. He sat down next to him and put his own hand over his father's. The sensation triggered a reaction as his head jerk towards Stiles, and he stared at his son in horror and disbelief.

"Stiles. Is it true?"

Stiles nodded.

His father immediately lunged forward and wrapped his arms around his child. His eyes were tightly shut, but a tear still escaped them.

"I think our work here is done," Peter suggested, and he nimbly left the house, accompanied by Derek. The noise of the Camaro galloping away soon was audible, and yet his father still clutched Stiles like his last hope for life.

"Stiles, what happened to you?" he asked and shook his head while he pulled away. He rubbed his thumbs over Stiles' cheeks. "How could you get in this mess?"

"I never did anything dad," he admitted. It was true. "The mess just found me."

"But why you? Why did you have to be in so much danger?" Mr. Stilinski said, with pure disgust at the fact that he had nearly lost his son.

"They told you. That crazy Andrew person knew I was a coworker of Derek's. He just wanted to mess with his head."

"And to think that I was upset about you growing up!"

"Wait, what?" Stiles jerked away.

"Come on, Stiles, why did you think I was trying to get you to have dinner with me in the first place? I know it's ridiculous but… I'm just scared that you'll leave for college and never come back," his father confessed reluctantly.

Stiles chuckled lightly.

"Dad, you know I'm never going to leave you. Who's going to feed your sorry ass?" he joked. He hoped it wasn't too racy a comment for the current situation. Thankfully, his father laughed out loud and hugged him even tighter.

After that, Mr. Stilinski apologized a million times over for having made Stiles feel so terrible about missing their dinner, when his life had been on the line. Stiles repeatedly told him that it wasn't his fault, and that he didn't know. Eventually, they both got hungry and went to the diner and they finally got their birthday meal together. Maybe it wasn't what either of them had been imagining—definitely a lot more werewolf talk—but it was still something they shared and a memory they would both get to keep forever and that was what mattered.


	29. Someone Else

"Because, the less people know about this, the better. You know that's true."

Mr. Stilinski nodded in agreement. Stiles was right. Even if Scott didn't know the whole story about last night, his ignorance, however frustrating, served a greater purpose: keeping the balance in check. If everyone found out about wolves, even accidentally, there would be hell to pay.

"But I still don't know what I'm doing for him tonight, I really don't. Taking him to a movie or something is just not going to cut it," Stiles admitted. He was genuinely at a dead end. He had no idea how he was going to repay Scott's willingness to accept a vacant apology.

"So, what are you going to do?" his father asked as he took a sip of coffee. Stiles sat at the opposite end of the kitchen table, finding comfort in his own cupful. Coffee was something they often did together. It was their father-son bonding thing, in a weird way.

"I just said I don't know," Stiles said snidely. "But I'm open for suggestions…"

"Well, you can always ask those wolf people if you can come clean to Scott. Call them up on your mobile and everything."

"It wasn't my fault this time!"

They had paid a visit to their dear friends at the mall and bought an even sturdier device. They were on a first name basis with the employees there.

"I know, I know… Look, just do something meaningful. It doesn't have to be huge. It's the thought that counts. You know Scott, if he knows you mean a lot by it, he'll forgive you. He's a really good friend you've got picked there. One of the few good choices you've made…"

"That was helpful," Stiles said snidely again. "Haven't you got any helpful words of advice? Anything out of past experiences?"

"Past experiences? Stiles, I'm not eighty."

"Still." He sighed once more. "I'm going to go ask Allison," he announced abruptly.

"I'll see you later!" Stiles yelled as he rushed out of the back door. His father sat there, still trying to comprehend what had been said before the flurry of movement had begun. Stiles was having one of his jittery days.

…

"Hel—" Chris Argent almost greeted after he opened the front door, but instead he stopped and sighed when he saw Stiles. "Stiles."

"Hello, sir. Am I interrupting anything?" Stiles asked eagerly.

"No, not at all. I was just thinking that I could do with a few days without being reminded of last night. Your face just tends to bring back memories, is all," Chris grunted and waved his hand at his own face to illustrate his point.

"I'd say 'likewise', but I know you have a garage full of guns," Stiles wittily replied. Mr. Argent's stern look reminded him he needed to work on his brain-to-mouth filter.

"Please tell me you're here for Allison," he almost begged.

"I'd like to speak to Allison, if it's possible," Stiles provided. Chris' obvious relief was genuine and overwhelming.

"She's in her room. Upstairs, last door on the right."

…

"So, what are you doing here?" Allison finally asked after Stiles had entered her room and sat on her armchair. Everything smelled… pretty.

"Well, you know that I have to take Scott out tonight," Stiles began hesitantly.

"But you don't know what he wants," she finished for him. He shrugged to emphasize how lost he was.

"He's your childhood friend, you know. You should be able to cheer him up in no time."

"Yeah, but he's much more inclined to talk about me to you, so…" Stiles suggested and raised his eyebrows suggestively.

"Stiles, he didn't tell me anything. I mean, I can help you brainstorm and everything, but I don't know what he would want for your… date," he said in a monotone. It was clear that she was getting a kick out of this.

"Can you enjoy this a little less, please?"

"Sorry. Of course."

Stiles whined.

"He really hasn't told you anything? I'm just going in blind here?"

"There's many books and internet sites that can show you what you're going to want to do once you're down there—"

"Oh come on!"

Allison giggled as she sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Look," she began. "We both know that he's a pretty sweet guy, and he'll appreciate a meaningful gesture."

"Yeah, well, that much I knew already," he said with the enthusiasm suddenly drained out of him. Allison looked at him. He was at a true loss.

"I just—I thought he was fine, you know? I thought he'd forgiven me. I thought he was over it, or he was at least working on getting over it. I don't know if it makes me a shitty friend but… I don't know, maybe I feel like it's a little petty of him to demand that I make it up to him like this."

For a second, Allison didn't know what to say. She almost thought about asking Stiles if it would be okay if she pretended that she hadn't heard that, because she hated keeping anything from Scott, and she could obviously not tell him that his best friend thought he was petty.

"Stiles, you know that's not true."

"I know, I know! I'm kicking myself over it, but I can't help but feel like he's just being unreasonable. If I were in his position, I would never make him bend over backwards for me trying to make it up to me."

"But you're different. You know how to keep everything inside and deal with it yourself. You'd be able to convince yourself to forgive him. Scott is more… sensitive. He wants hard proof that you mean your apology."

"Serves me right for being best friends with a puppy dog," Stiles grunted. Allison smiled sadly.

"Maybe there's something you can buy for him? Something he's always wanted?"

"I don't know… That's like an easy way out, buying him something, you know?"

She tilted her head. Stiles was kind of right.

"Is there any place where you guys always hang out? You can take him there."

"I keep thinking that I want to do for him what he did for me, just get a bunch of people to show up."

"Like, an 'I'm sorry' party?"

Stiles' face suddenly lit up.

"An 'I'm sorry' party. Allison that's great!"

"Is it?" she cringed.

"Why? What's wrong with it?" Stiles asked desperately like his dearest hopes and dreams had just gotten crushed.

"That sounds kind of depressing, Stiles."

"Trust me, I'll make sure to liven it up."

"What are you going to do?"

"Just trust me," he ordered her as he stood up enthusiastically. "In the meantime, can I trust you to invite the people over to my place tonight? Just the people who were at Scott's house."

She shrugged.

"Thank you so much," he laughed and rushed in to kiss her on the cheek as he cupped her face in his hands like a little child's.

"Do you want everyone?" Allison called after him as he grabbed his jacket and rushed out of her bedroom.

"Yes, please," he yelled as walked out. He was hoping not to run into her father again on his way out.

"Wait! I don't have that kid's number, do you have it?" she yelled. Stiles' head reappeared at the door.

"What kid?"

"That kid Scott told you about, the one who was really interested in you."

"Oh, no," Stiles immediately began as he vigorously shook his head. "There's no need to invite him."

"Are you sure? He was cute." She seemed very inclined to get them together in the same room.

"I'm sure," he reassured her with a forced smile.

She squinted at him. He squinted back.

"Stiles!" she immediately exclaimed, not missing a beat. "Is there someone else?" she whispered harshly.

"Got to go, bye!" he chuckled nervously and practically ran out of the house.

…

"Come on, pick up," Stiles urged his phone as he walked down the aisle, trying to navigate his shopping cart with one hand. It was already half filled with sodas and beer bottles. The weight of it was not helping the situation. As he almost crashed the cart into a shelf loaded with jars full of olives, the line crackled.

"Hello?"

"Derek! It's me."

"Stiles, what the hell are you doing? Running a marathon?"

"Pretty much. Listen, I need a huge favor."

…

"Stiles, how did you even afford all of this?" Mr. Stilinski asked as he helped his son unload the Jeep.

"I used my card."

"But that's only for emergencies."

"My friendship is in the balance, I think that qualifies for an emergency!"

"Is this all you got?" his father asked, when they were finally done and they stood in the kitchen, unpacking things. "Snacks in bags and drinks in bottles?"

"Dad, we're teenagers. Nobody's expecting a three-course meal or anything."

As they continued to rip, shove and organize, the distinct sound of a car approached their house, and suddenly died out. A few seconds later, a door was heard slamming shut and a knock on the front door followed.

Stiles rushed to open the door.

"Hey," Allison greeted. Her clothes were only slightly more formal than what she had been wearing before, but not enough to make Stiles look underdressed. "I know I'm early, but I thought I'd bring my stereo over for music and help you perk the place up."

He stood there looking at her. Scott would be in a ditch somewhere if she hadn't come into his life.

As Allison did her thing, Stiles and his father unloaded everything and put the drinks in the fridge. They emptied all the snacks into bowls, and by the time they were done with everything, Danny arrived.

"Danny, hi," Stiles greeted him awkwardly. They both stood in the doorway for a few seconds, not really saying anything.

"Hey, Stiles," Danny eventually replied. It came out forced, like a sigh or a resentful statement.

Stiles soon realized that every one of his guests would greet him in that way, and he also realized that he would have to apologize to every single one of them, turn by turn, and practically beg them to get them to join his party. Thankfully, only Jackson seemed very reluctant to accept Stiles' apology, but Lydia was on it.

After all, he had ditched them as well.

…

Sooner or later, after everyone had gathered themselves, they sat in the living room joking and mingling and snacking and listening to them music, and basically waiting for Scott. Stiles' father had resorted to cooping himself up in his bedroom and watching a baseball game after he had a very quick dinner.

"Stiles? Can I talk to you in the kitchen?" Danny suddenly asked. Stiles felt immensely embarrassed, not because Danny and he didn't speak much and he felt awkward about being alone with him, but because everybody else had gone quiet at that moment, hopefully by accident.

"Uh, sure," he said and led the way through the kitchen door, which he made sure to shut after Danny had walked into the kitchen.

"So, is that Jake kid coming tonight?" Danny immediately began with his arms crossed and his eyes glinting.

"Wow, you really like to get to the point, don't you?" Stiles remarked.

"Well, is he?"

"No, not as far as I know," Stiles said. He didn't want to say that he had explicitly told Allison to keep him out of the guest list, because that would obviously raise a follow-up question. However, Danny did seem slightly disappointed. "Why, did you… Did you want me to invite him?" he finally asked, implying that Danny had a personal interest in Jake. Danny got the hint.

"No, no, not me! I meant for you, he seems like a nice guy…"

"Ah, Danny," Stiles began chuckling nervously. "I appreciate the concern, but I wasn't really interested anyway. Really, though, thanks."

"Bull."

"What?"

"I'm calling bull."

"I'm—Why?"

"Stiles, look. I know that it can be kind of new and scary to get in your first relationship with another guy, especially now that you're both almost eighteen, so you know that things could easily get serious. I mean you're not just kids anymore, you know how to function in a serious relationship. Just don't let it scare you out of something that could be really good."

"Oh God, Danny!" Stiles laughed as he covered his face. It was burning red. "I am honestly and genuinely not attracted to Jake, or even intimidated by him, not one bit. Still, thanks for the advice. I'll keep it in mind."

Danny's dark eyes sparked into life.

"You like someone else."

"What—Why does everyone—"

"But it can't be someone from our school, because there's no other gay guys…" he said thoughtfully as he rubbed his chin, looked into space.

"How could you even know that?"

"Gaydar," Danny simply explained. "Is it someone older?" he went on with a suggestive smirk. Stiles was about to fail to reassure Danny how wrong he was when the bell rang.

"Oh, look at that!" he exclaimed and practically ran away from the kitchen to open the door. It was Derek.

"Hey, Stiles," Derek smiled and nodded. As Stiles heard a giggling behind his back, he turned to see Danny in stitches.


	30. Party

"Okay, look, it's a good thing," Stiles urged his father.

"I'm not saying it's not—"

"Then go bond or something! I'm sure you can find a lot to talk about, especially with what happened!"

And with that, Stiles closed the front door, locking his father outside with Derek and Peter. He texted Derek his massive thanks for taking his father out while everyone was over. There was no way he could have his father in the house along with Scott, not when he planned on getting him drunk. That was the basis of the entire plan. However willing Scott might be to forget about all that had happened, a little bit of alcohol could go a long way in convincing him.

It was Stiles' idea.

He turned to see Allison and Danny stare at him with raised eyebrows, crossed arms and demanding faces. Everybody else didn't seem very interested in what had happened. In fact, they continued to mingle immediately. Allison had taken the liberty of even inviting some people who hadn't ben and Stiles' party the night before, some people who she knew Scott enjoyed talking to—and although she wouldn't admit it, this one girls she invited always hit on Scott.

Stiles brushed past his two friends and walked up the stairs to his bedroom. They followed briskly. He held up his finger to quiet them until he closed the door behind him.

"What the holy hell?" Allison demanded.

"About which part?" Stiles whimpered.

"Every one!" exclaimed Danny.

"Look," Stiles began. He thought he would start with the least embarrassing part, and hope that it would satisfy their curiosity. "I had to get my dad to take off because I want to get Scott drunk tonight to make sure that he won't care at all about last night, and before you say that I'm a terrible friend, trust me: you've never had Scott act like a pouty baby at your expense."

He stood there, with his back against the door, trying to figure out what to do with his hands while he saw Allison and Dannys' expressions shift and alter as they processed Stiles' motives. Something between suspicion, disbelief and annoyance told Stiles that nothing good was in store for him.

"So where is he now?" Danny asked suggestively.

"He's gone out."

"Where?"

"Wherever he wants. Probably the diner."

"With whom?"

Stiles gulped.

"This guy he knows."

"What's his name?" Allison pressed on.

"Derek something," Stiles said, anything but nonchalantly.

Danny squinted at him.

"Have you met Derek something before?"

"Uh, you know. I've talked to him before a few times, but… Yeah."

They both nodded and pretended to agree with him. I'm off the hook, Stiles thought.

Danny and Allison took a step closer.

Not quite yet.

As they both opened their mouths simultaneously to say something that Stiles was positive would give him a run for his money as far as his lying skills went, the doorbell rang. Judging by the commotion happening downstairs, it was Scott and everyone was trying to find a decent hiding spot to surprise him.

"Oh, look, Scott's here," Stiles exclaimed and fled the room. As he ran onto the landing of the staircase, overlooking the front door through which Scott entered, he simply threw his arms up in the air and screamed 'Surprise!' along with everyone else. Danny and Allison ran out after him.

Everybody hugged Scott, patted him on the back and welcomed him as well as explaining to him what the hell was going on. He went on to ask Allison, "I thought you said we were going to watch a DVD?" as if he expected everybody to say 'Gotcha!' and leave Stiles, Allison and Scott alone to have their movie night.

After the big entrance, Stiles descended the stairs to embrace his dear friend and spent a good portion of his night shoving full beer cans in Scott's hand and throwing away the ones which he gladly gulped down. The party was going well, Stiles was slowly but steadily achieving his goal and an attempt was made by Danny to corner Stiles and get him to spill the beans, which was barely evaded.

Once about an hour had passed, Scott decided to exit the house and sit on the front porch to rub his face and flick his hair in the cool nighttime breeze. Stiles noticed his absence from the crowd, but he quickly located him and sat down next to Scott after Stiles closed the front door.

"Hey buddy," Stiles greeted and squeezed Scott's shoulder.

"Hi Stiles!" he replied warmly.

"How do you like the party?"

"It's amazing! It's even better than the party I was going to throw you!"

Stiles giggled. That had the potential to be a massively awkward moment, but Scott's blaring smile left no room for anything but warmth.

"I'm glad you like it," Stiles admitted. "Look, about that. We're cool about it, right?"

"About what?"

"The party you were going to throw me."

"Why wouldn't we be cool?"

"Because I never showed up."

"Oh," said Scott and looked thoughtfully into space. Memories of previous events were finally flowing again. Memories that could spark a majorly angry outburst.

"No, we're cool. I mean, I still don't know why you didn't come, but you're really sorry about it so…"

And that was that. Stiles might as well had ended the party right there and then, but he didn't feel like kicking his friends out. Even if he did feel like it, he wasn't sure if he had the guts to be that guy who screams 'Party's over!' and pulls the plug on the speakers. He tried to get Scott to drink as much water as possible. Even if it wasn't enough to remove the alcohol from his body, it would at least stop the hangover he would have to help to nurse. There was no way he was going to drop off a very intoxicated seventeen-year-old boy at Melissa McCall's doorstep and face the wrath she was capable of, which he had only witnessed from afar; thus Scott would have to stay the night, and hopefully his food would also stay in his stomach.

It didn't take long for everyone to eventually decide that it was time to head home. By midnight, only Allison and Danny lingered a little longer, trying to coax a sliver of a detail from Stiles, but it never arrived. However, just as they were leaving, Derek arrived instead.

Stiles, Scott, Allison and Danny had all been sitting in the now quiet living room, being thoroughly amused by Scott when the doorbell rang.

"Someone must have forgotten something," murmured Stiles as he got up to open the door.

"Yeah?" he called.

"It's me, Stiles," answered his father from the other side of the door. Immediately, Stiles proceeded to fitfully flail his arms in a vague attempt to shoo Scott away, and the other two got the hint to take Scott up to Stiles' bedroom. When it was certain that there would be no more reappearances of a very drunk teenager for the night, Stiles yanked the door open.

"Hey, dad," he greeted coolly.

"Stiles, what the hell?" demanded Mr. Stilinski.

"Yeah, we should go now," Danny murmured as Allison and he tried to make a smooth exit—as smooth as the situation would allow, anyway. But, then, Derek walked in behind the Sheriff.

"We could stay for a little longer, though," Allison corrected and they both stood smartly at a safe distance but within earshot.

"Just go home," Mr. Stilinski said tiredly. The pair miserably obeyed and exited against their will. As soon as they had moved behind Derek, Allison signaled to Stiles to text her later. Derek closed the door exasperatedly without looking.

"Stiles, would you care to explain why you kicked me out?" the Sheriff elaborated.

"Right now?" he asked pathetically.

"Yes, right now!"

"Dad, I meant to give you a day's notice, I really did, but I just didn't."

"Notice? Stiles, you weren't having me evicted!"

"If I may interrupt," Derek interrupted without waiting for permission, however waiting for silence, signifying his permission to continue, "I think I can explain."

"Explain what?" Mr. Stilinski went on, redirecting his anger.

"In all honesty, I personally approached Stiles and asked him if there was any was that I could make it up to you: all of last night's torment. Somehow, I can't shake the feeling that if it weren't for me, none of it would have happened. He suggested that I treat you to a nice steak, he said you would appreciate that."

As Stiles' eyes widened and stared daggers at him behind the Sheriff's back, while the Sheriff's own eyes quizzically bore holes into Derek, he found it increasingly difficult to keep a straight face after confessing to such a lie. After a long, agonizing silence, Mr. Stilinski lifter a scolding finger and raised his eyebrows as he continued to examine Derek's argument.

"Are you kidding me?" he finally said. Derek let out a sigh of relief internally.

"No, I'm not."

"Then I can respect that. I don't understand why it had to be a secret, but I can respect it."

"Thank you, Sheriff."

"Is that why you were acting so strange tonight?"

Derek gulped.

"Yes."

"Huh," he concluded thoughtfully. "Well, Derek, I wouldn't want to keep you any more than you'd want to stay here. I'm sure you want to get home, so I'll just say goodnight.

"And you," he continued as he turned towards his son, hardening his tone. "You're really weird sometimes," he finally breathed and walked off towards the kitchen. Stiles had a small moment of panic when he thought about the myriads of empty beer cans, but also remembered how Allison made him throw them all out as quickly as possible, and felt a surge of relief further intensified by the fact that he and Derek had barely managed to slip by his father's icy glare.

As much as he would have liked to hear everything about Derek's night, he resorted to a promise that they would meet the next day and walked him to the pavement.

"Dad, I'm going to head to bed! I'll clean up tomorrow!" Stiles called and sprinted up the stairs when a loud thud was heard from Stiles' room.

"What was that?" his father questioned as he poked his head through the kitchen doorway.

"Scott's staying here tonight."

…

Stiles shut the bedroom door behind him and let out the breath he had been holding for so long. He was relieved to see that Scott was already passed out, even if he was taking up a good portion of the bed.

"Serves me right," he mumbled and changed into an oversized t-shirt and some pajama bottoms. He climbed into bed and turned off the lights. Before he closed his eyes he made a point of checking that his phone was charging. Instead, he realized he had a message.

When he opened it, he saw that it was from Allison. She was asking about what happened. He dismissed it and just replied that he would tell her tomorrow, which he would probably not do. He threw his phone aside and shuffled around until he found a comfortable position to sleep, considering the limited space with which he had to work. Scott wasn't as slender as he looked. His baggy clothes and his choice in layers tended to fool people about his physique.

As soon as Stiles began feeling a much-needed sense of peace, somebody started calling him.

"Allison, please, I'll just tell you the next time I see you, I just really want to sleep right now."

"Stiles, it's Derek."

"Oh," he exclaimed and sat up.

"Is everything okay?"

"Y—Yeah, totally!"

"Alright, I guess it can wait until tomorrow. Get some sleep."

"Okay, yeah."

The line clicked shut. Stiles went to sleep a little bit annoyed at himself. Why the hell was he so scared of wrecking his relationship with Derek that he felt the need to tiptoe around everything? He wanted to call back and ask him to climb in through his window or something. That would be a piece of cake for someone like Derek, but he was constantly aware of everything that he said. When he'd texted Derek to get him to pick up the Sheriff, Stiles was afraid that he would only get a very aggressive, negative response, or just a very abrupt ending to their relationship.

Why did he even think that they had a relationship already?


	31. Myself

(I am uploading this chapter as well as the previous one because I leave tomorrow for a family trip and will not be back until the 30th, which means chapter 32 should be up on the 1st of July. I am so so sorry for the big gap in posting, but there's really nothing I do now.)

Scott woke up with barely a headache, a true wonder considering the amount of beers he had consumed the previous night. After Stiles practically force-fed him a fried egg and some slices of bacon, he drove himself home on his bicycle and almost got ran over, a detail he omitted when he gave Stiles a call—which he was also forced to do—announcing that he had arrived safely.

Once he was done having breakfast himself, and mostly stopped worrying, Stiles decided to find something with which to occupy himself. He had even considered doing homework, but the thought quickly skittered out of his head. He then considered going into work early, but he realized that it was still Sunday and had to stop for a second to remind himself that barely over 24 hours had passed since the night Andrew took them all.

He called up his dad, and found out that he was at the police station, getting some of next week's paperwork done early, just so he could work at a more relaxed pace. Stiles wondered for a second if the Sheriff felt like he needed to take things easy because his weekend had been so stressful due to his son.

Stiles almost hit Allison up as well, but remembered how interested in Derek she had been last night, and was sure to grill him for any information she could coax out of him.

That led him to the last nagging thought, which he had shoved as far back in his mind as possible: Derek.

"Hey, it's me. Stiles. I'm home alone, and uh… I'm pretty bored and I haven't got anything to do today. Do you? I mean do you have anything planned out? I'd like to hand out, if that's okay with you. Not that you're my last resort or anything, I just—"

The voicemail beep cut him off.

He sighed heavily at his life and sat down at the sofa. He picked up the remote and turned on the television, but quickly decided he didn't want to watch anything but cartoons. They failed to lift his spirits, but they did succeed in getting his mind off things for a little bit. Almost half an hour had passed after Derek called him back.

"Stiles? Is everything okay?"

"More or less. Why?"

"Nothing, your just sound… Jittery."

"What?" he whined as if he had been accused of a great crime. "I'm a growing boy, I've got a lot of energy, sue me!"

"You know, you keep forgetting that you're not a boy anymore."

"Well, I feel like a boy."

There was a small silence. It wasn't awkward, but Stiles was anxious to hear what Derek had to say next.

"So I take it you're free today?"

"Yeah, if you want—"

"I want you to come over so we can have a relaxing Sunday together," Derek suddenly demanded with a seemingly misplaced caring tone.

"O—Okay," Stiles stammered. They said their goodbyes and hung up. He stood in his living room for a second before he realized what had happened, when he promptly proceeded to yank his keys off the hook on the wall and stumble out of the house.

…

Stiles waited for the elevator in Derek's building after he had been buzzed in with a newfound appreciation for the place. He hadn't really had an opportunity to appreciate its style and attitude the previous times he had rushed over. Even the chrome elevator buttons and doors matched the statement of a handrail. After those very doors slid open, Stiles half-expected a loop of relaxing lounge music to be playing inside the lift, but he found that his ride to the fifth floor was surprisingly smooth and quiet and… effortless.

A lifetime later he was at Derek's front door, which swung inwardly before Stiles even had a chance to ring the bell or knock.

"Hey! How'd you—"

"Superhuman ears?" Derek suggested and Stiles felt a little bit… something very peculiar. It wasn't embarrassment, just a need to redeem his mental capabilities.

"Right," he acknowledged and walked in. He didn't think he was ever going to get used to Derek's house, and had only seen three or four rooms. Judging by the size of the living room, that was maybe half the number of all the rooms.

Stiles awkwardly segued the small-talk into a request for a tour of the place. Derek happily agreed and even showed him the rooms with which he was already familiar. For example, the living room with its black couch and the matching pair of very suave armchairs—an adjective Stiles never thought he would use to describe furniture—arranged around a modern coffee table was impressively decorated with what looked like a quite expensive carpet.

The kitchen, however very sterile-looking due to the mainly white colors everywhere, remained appealing as far as eating there went. Of course, there was still a dining room connected to the living room, which looked like it had been hand-picked out of a Venetian palace, including the lavish curtains and chairs.

Lastly, the bedrooms did not appear to vary in size even if their importance did. The master bedroom where Derek slept was tidy and borderline obsessively clean. Its coloring apparently progressed from the almost black rug, to the dark grey sheets, to the grey color of the walls, which subtly but obviously followed a lightening gradient, so that the white ceiling did not appear out of place. The second pair of pillows was an enchanting maroon that matched the curtains, which were also very dark but definitely not black or grey. The other bedrooms followed a similar coloring pattern, and their en suite bathrooms did not lack in elegance.

"Okay, there is no way in hell you can afford this place working under Holly," Stiles exclaimed as soon as the tour was over, not really watching his tongue. Derek smiled endearingly at him.

"Are you implying that I'm involved in some kind of illegal behavior?" he asked comically and led the way to the kitchen, where they retrieved two drinks and sat at the sofa in the next room.

"On the record, I never said anything like that, you were the one that said that!" Stiles yelped. He worried for a second that he oversold it, due to Derek's slightly worried expression. "I'm kidding, it's a fantastic apartment."

"Thanks," he half-smiled and set his drink on a coaster and faced Stiles, who was halfway through taking a swig. The sudden undivided attention startled him.

"Anything on your mind?" he wheezed after having coughed up half the mouthful of liquid he tried to swallow.

"I don't know, Stiles," Derek said in a totally different tone. "You tell me."

"What do you mean?"

"Something is up with you."

"No—"

"Superhuman powers, Stiles. Just tell me the truth."

Stiles instinctively stared Derek dead in the eyes, but quickly failed to hold the gaze. He looked down and felt his heart speed crazily. He knew Derek could hear that, too.

"Don't think I've changed my mind about us, but I just can't help but feel like you're settling with me Derek. You—"

"Stiles," Derek began with the look of a heartbroken puppy dog.

"Let me finish," Stiles interjected with his hand raised in defense. "Truth be told, you're gorgeous, you're loaded, you're weirdly caring and polite, and not to mention just about a decade older than me, but I'm just… me. You can't blame me for thinking the obvious here."

"Nobody's blaming you, Stiles. I'm not going to sit here and praise your good traits because if you're telling me all of this, you probably won't believe me, anyway. But you have got to get a better image of yourself. You really don't deserve to feel like shit all the time, and if you let me, I'll make sure nobody else makes you feel like shit, either. You just cannot think this. I am in no way settling with you. I just want you to… I need you to be yourself, if at least it was your real self that you showed me at the animal center, because I can honestly see myself falling for that person. Not now, and not next week, but some time from now. I really do."

"Be myself?" Stiles nodded, as if he needed further reassurance that he had heard correctly.

"All the time."

Stiles repeatedly and bashfully looked into Derek's eyes and back down. He had been expecting a very different response. Soon, he felt Derek's big hand cup his cheek with surprising tenderness. He tilted his head back up so that they would see into each other's eyes.

"You do remember that you were the one who insisted on being together?" he asked Stiles, who rolled his eyes and leaned in for a kiss. Derek gladly reciprocated, but it wasn't deep and passionate. A series of quick, light pecks cheered Stiles right up who succumbed to a laughing fit through which he fought, just so he could control his lips enough to continue the kissing.

Derek also laughed, but it was a deep rumble of a laugh and Stiles felt it reverberate inside him. Enchanted, he put his own hands around Derek and pulled him closer, who copied the action. As the room spun around him, Stiles grabbed fistfuls of fabric. His breathing was getting quicker and he was losing track of his surroundings. Derek was everything of which he was capable of thinking, who drugged him with his scent and his expertly, rapidly moving lips—

"I think maybe I should—Uh, my phone's ringing!" Derek exclaimed with utter terror on his face.

"No, it's not, don't worry," Stiles reassured him, almost laughing at Derek's expression.

"Really? Are you sure?" he insisted with a high-pitched voice.

"Superhuman ears? You should be able to hear your own phone," Stiles said with a sarcastically empathic tone.

"But—"

"I thought you said I should be myself."

"Yes, I did—"

"Then why are you so weird?"

Derek played with his thumbs for a second, and looked at his hands on his lap. His cheeks burned red.

"I may or may not have gotten… slightly aroused," he stammered as quietly as possible.

The smile that appeared on Stiles' face was bright enough to act as a lighthouse in the pitch-black darkness.

"Derek, that's the point," he nodded and spoke as if he were trying to ease a small child into the basics of arithmetic.

"You're eighteen," Derek emphasized.

"Exactly."

"But… After what Andrew did to you?"

"Don't worry, I'm tougher than I look. I can take a lot," he finished with a mischievous smirk and his eyebrows darted upwards to make sure the innuendo was understood. Derek choked on his own spit before Stiles laughed himself halfway to death and launched himself at Derek's open arms.


	32. More Than Sex

Derek fell back on the sofa with Stiles crashing down on top of him, although somewhere between Stiles' skinny frame and Derek's supernatural strength, the weight was barely causing any discomfort.

They both giggled like children between their fleeting kisses until Stiles soon broke the connection by rising to a sitting position, straddling Derek's waist. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at those brown eyes, shot with a streak of green, staring back at him with nothing but affection.

"You're totally and completely sure?" Derek asked one last time. In response, Stiles promptly gripped the hem of his top and peeled it off his body as slowly as he could without it seeming purposeful. He tossed it aside without looking and felt glad to not hear the sound of something glass-made crashing to the floor. Derek expertly thrust his hips upward into Stiles' buttocks, causing him to propel forward and back into Derek's arms, who very discreetly took a deep lungful of the intoxicating aroma rolling off the boy's bare body.

"Well, don't let me stop you from carrying me to the bedroom," Stiles whined, brushing his own lips against Derek's. He took the hint and picked Stiles up as he stood, who in turn wrapped his legs tightly around Derek. There was something about Stiles clinging onto Derek like there was no other hope of survival that made him want Stiles even more. He wasted no time barging into his bedroom and flinging both their bodies at the bed.

Stiles' fingers quickly removed Derek's top as well, and he knew there would never come a day when he would grow tired of looking at that chiseled body. Derek planted warm, deep kisses on Stiles' neck, trailing down to his collarbones, over the chest and belly, until his mouth met Stiles' underwear, already peeking out of his trousers. He grabbed the waistband between his teeth and tugged at it.

"Why don't you take those off for me?" Stiles smiled.

"You're sure you've never done this before?" Derek winked, however he still quickly unbuttoned the trousers and pulled them off before bringing himself back up, to completely cover Stiles, so that he could see nothing but Derek. He was surprised to quickly feel Stiles' hands unbuttoning his own trousers, and he kicked them off his own legs. He grabbed Stiles and spun around so that he was on the bottom and he could easily cup Stiles' ass.

"Feeling like a pedophile yet?" Stiles beamed. He had not expected there to be so many opportunities for humor.

Derek pressed their mouths together to shut him up, and they stayed there for some time, doing nothing but kissing. It was neither frenzied nor lazy. They were simply happy. Content to be in each other's arms, completely satisfied with whatever was happening, never thinking that something is out of place or just not enough. Somehow, Stiles knew, in that moment, that this was what their relationship was going to be. Everything he would ever come to need, Derek would give it to him. Nothing more, nothing less. And somehow, through Derek's eyes Stiles could do enough without even knowing about it to reciprocate; as if they were built for each other.

At length, Derek decided that he craved more, and a rather animal instinct kicked in as he started grinding his groin upward and into Stiles'. They both quickly grew hard, and their rotating hips synchronized. One of Derek's hands slid from the back to the front of Stiles' underwear and found its target, expertly enveloping it through the fabric and giving it the extra pressure it was looking for. Stiles sighed heavily and Derek marveled in the hot air that bathed his chest as a reward for pleasing his lover, whose breath was a mixture of Stiles and Derek.

Stiles started grinding harder, and faster. It was obvious that he was thinking of much more than some over-the-underwear handjob. Derek felt this and slid down under Stiles' sensitive body to painfully slowly drag the underwear off, once he was face-to-face with the quickly enlarging bulge. He was greeted by Stiles' bouncing boner, which only stopped twitching when Derek put it in his mouth. Stiles immediately collapsed on the mattress and grabbed the sheets while he propped his lower body up on his knees to give Derek some breathing space.

Involuntarily, he thrust forward into the warm, awaiting mouth which expertly teased and pleased him for what seemed like a century. He reached blindly for a pillow and put it under his head, but it was more to bite on it to stifle his whimpers rather than for comfort. Derek continuously moaned to indicate how pleased he was with the response his oral skills were dragging out of Stiles' writhing body.

Before he could reach climax, Stiles stopped Derek. He was ready to suggest returning the favor, but Derek had other plans in mind. Ordering Stiles to lift his upper body using his hands so that he would be on all fours, he placed both hands on Stiles' buttocks and spread them while positioning himself.

"Derek, are you sure you want to go in dry?" Stiles said. His stammering was somewhat due to his inability to focus on anything except Derek's mouth—even speech—as well as his fear of the pain a dry entry would cause.

"Of course not," was the cool reply when Derek lowered his body and buried his face in Stiles' ass, who gasped as soon as he felt the tongue. It was a brand new sensation, and it was good.

Very good.

Derek soon had him lightly rotating his hips and backing them up when the pressure was not enough. Eventually he brought a finger up to the serviced hole, but carefully, as if he were trying to approach a wild animal that was due to flee any second. When he made sure Stiles knew that a finger was there, and that the hole was loose enough, he gently pushed his finger inside. To his surprise, Stiles swallowed him up.

A new, raw sound escaped Stiles' throat, and Derek almost fucked him right there and then when he saw that cute face looking back at him, with a look so flushed and debauched and hungry for more. He wasted no time sliding a second finger in, only to have Stiles respond by practically fucking himself on Derek's hand. The hole was warm and very tight. Derek was amazed that he had been able to put two fingers in with such ease, causing nothing but searing pleasure apparently. When he did it to himself, he had to take his time.

Only a minute or two later, Derek was fully fingering Stiles' hole. It didn't take much longer for him to start begging Derek to enter him. Eager to please, he positioned the head of his cock at Stiles' hole and slowly entered. Where he expected to boy to gasp at the feeling of his virginity being taken, Derek himself inhaled, astounded by the tightness. He had really thought he had loosened Stiles up.

"Everything okay?" he asked.

"Fuck yeah," Stiles replied crudely. Derek then put one hand on either side of Stiles' hips, and began to thrust gently. He swore himself and soon lost control of the rhythm. His hips had a mind of their own, and they were set on slamming into Stiles roughly and quickly. They both screamed out in ecstasy. Derek had a fleeting thought about the neighbors overhearing them, but Stiles' twitching asshole around his rock-hard meat was enough to put all of his worries to rest.

Some time later Derek abruptly pulled out, but before Stiles could protest, he flipped him over and lowered his body between the boy's open legs after shoving his boner back in. They held each other and breathed heavily into each other's mouth while frequently swearing, moaning or begging for more. Stiles' eyes were swimming in whatever drug was pouring off Derek's body and intoxicating his mind, while Derek himself felt a newfound fetish of his being satisfied, one where he was in complete control of his partner.

"Talk to me," Derek instructed. It took Stiles a few tries to comprehend what he had heard, and to actually comply, because between Derek's powerful dominating thrusts it was difficult to take a full breath.

"I fucking love your cock," Stiles exclaimed. There was no beating around the bush.

"You want it?"

"Yeah, give it to me."

Derek immediately pulled out and lightly pressed the head of his shaft against Stiles, without entering.

"Derek."

"How badly do you want it?"

"Derek, please give it to me."

"Is that it?"

"Please, fuck me more!"

Derek finally continued after having established his control over Stiles, whose face was washed with relief as his most primal need was satisfied. He kept going at a steady pace and a steady force. Not too quickly and not to forcefully, but more than necessary for a decent amount of pleasure. Their first time together was truly astounding.

Stiles quickly grabbed his own raging erection and announced that he was close to an orgasm. With a loud yelp, his body went rigid, his hole clenched around Derek and his toes curled before he covered both their chests in his hot semen. Derek immediately pulled out and continued masturbating as he licked the liquid off Stiles, before he was even done coming, since the scent overwhelmed him.

Seconds later, he let his own load spew all over his lover. His orgasm was silent at first, but he let out a yell he had been holding in when he was done. Derek then slid his tongue up Stiles' body, from his soaked bush, through the mind-blowing mixture of semen on his chest, until his mouth had met Stiles' once more.

…

They stayed there for some time, one on top of the other with their fluids still mixed between them. After almost half an hour had passed, they got up and shared a shower. Being too exhausted to think of another round, they didn't get horny again, but it didn't stop them from sneaking looks at each other.

"Did I hurt you?" Derek asked thoughtfully when they had both showered, dried themselves and went to cuddle in the guest bedroom. Derek's bed reeked of cum.

Stiles chuckled.

"Hurt me? You must have a very big idea of yourself."

"You know what I mean."

"No, Derek, my first time having sex ever was better than I could have ever imagined. Is that okay? Do you need further reassurance?" Stiles joked with a slight edge to his voice.

"That's enough, I guess," Derek grumbled.

Stiles didn't think of it as his first time, or losing his virginity or anything like that, which was surprising, considering how intent he was on losing his virginity before graduation. Now he knew there was much more to sex than just… sex. Because it was much more than just that which he had had with Derek.

They had made love to each other, and Stiles felt it deep inside him now. He finally felt whatever Derek had been feeling up to now. A sense of belonging, of wanting to completely give yourself to the other, commit for a lifetime. It scared him, but there was nothing else he wanted more at the same time; so he stayed in Derek's arms without saying anything. Maybe Derek could sense Stiles' heavy thoughts. The point was that he was practically in the best place in the world.

After that they were silent, but it was perfect. It was the day Stiles realized how much he adored sunsets. Maybe it was the way the orange sunlight was flung in through the window and splotched against the wall in a weird shape. Maybe it was lying in Derek's arms during the sunset. Maybe it was a combination of the two.


	33. Mondays

Stiles and Derek both woke up at around the same time. Their nap had been massively necessary, and combined with a fresh feeling of restfulness as well as waking up in Derek's arms, Stiles felt ready to take on a brand-new week.

Too bad it was still Sunday.

Stiles had to keep reminding himself of that fact because it seemed to him infeasible that so many events had taken place in such a short amount of time. Nevertheless, it felt exactly like a Sunday. Slow, lazy, and relaxing. They got up and out of bed at their own pace, and decided to both wear fresh pairs of Derek's underwear, after considering the dried stains on their previous ones.

As they left the room, they realized what a mess they had caused. Instead, they spent another five minutes in there removing everything from sheets to clothes to odors and carelessly dumping everything in the hamper. They didn't speak while they cleaned, or even when they remade the bed. On the contrary, they communicated in some magical way to compliment each other's actions.

Eventually, after getting dressed as well, they decided they were hungry.

"Where do you want to go?" Stiles asked.

"I don't care," Derek replied. "Nowhere fancy though, I'm feeling lazy."

"How about the diner?" Stiles smiled sluggishly.

"What diner?" Derek said quizzically with one eyebrow climbing up. Stiles examined him for any signs of sarcasm.

"The town diner?" he went on.

"We have a diner?"

"Uh, you took me there."

"Oh, that diner!"

Derek suddenly grabbed his keys and walked out with long strides. Stiles barely gathered his things and caught up.

…

"You know, I could really get used to this car," Stiles commented thoughtfully as he ran his hand over the lining of his seat in Derek's Camaro. It was stiff, but comfortable. Tightly made, but not strained. It was as if the seat was filled with confidence instead of padding.

"That's the same thing I said to the salesman, but you never really get used to it. It's always just a little bit exciting."

…

"Yeah, I'll have a burger, as well. And a glass of beer," Derek ordered from the waitress.

"It's such a shame that you can't get drunk, you know," Stiles whined when she had left their booth. "I'd like to see you drunk."

"Judging by today, you probably have some very interesting reasons why you want to get me drunk."

Stiles choked on his water just a little bit.

"So now you're inside my head, only after a day?"

"You're a human Stiles, you're pretty easy to read. Plus it wasn't just a day. I've known you for much longer than that."

He looked at Derek with heavy thoughts behind his eyes, and then down at the tabletop.

"You know, I've been thinking," he admitted. "What if you'd come to me with all of this sooner?" Stiles said and gestured at the space between them. "What if we'd been good friends, at least? Maybe I would have listened to you that day when you crawled in through my window. Hell, you wouldn't have even had to crawl anywhere. Maybe things would have gone down a lot differently."

Derek clasped his hands around Stiles'.

"Different doesn't mean better—"

The waitress interrupted them by coming back with their food and drinks. They ate without any substantial conversation. They joked about things and even had a good laugh at one point when Stiles told a story about his father dropping him as a baby, but nothing serious. That was satisfying. Stiles didn't feel like anything serious, sad or not. Derek obviously agreed.

Besides, Derek like to watch Stiles eat. He hated it when other people ate because he could hear their loud chewing, and they sometimes had absolutely no manners, so the vile sounds and images often disgusted him. But Stiles was different. He tried so hard to battle his natural clumsiness it was almost funny. At least he had the sense to chew with his mouth closed.

"What are you smiling at?" Stiles asked finally.

"Nothing," chuckled Derek and took another bite.

"Tell me."

"It's fine."

"Tell me!" Stiles demanded louder, but not angrily.

"Fine," Derek succumbed, but took a long time chewing and swallowing and taking a sip of his beer. He couldn't think of a way to phrase his thoughts without sounding creepy.

"Don't react badly," he began, "but I like watching you eat."

Stiles squinted, but raised his eyebrows at the same time. His face was something between antipathy and surprise, with a dash of confusion to round everything up.

"I'm not even going to ask. Serves me right for fucking a werewolf."

Derek choked this time.

…

They paid the bill and returned to Derek's building. Stiles didn't get out of the car because he was secretly waiting for Derek to invite him in, even if he knew the invitation wouldn't come. Stiles needed to go home, see his father. It had been a long weekend for him. Plus, Derek knew that if they went upstairs together it would only be a matter of time before they found themselves between the sheets again, and he wasn't comfortable with ravaging a barely-adult body twice in a day.

"Derek, people are asking me, you know. About you," Stiles admitted. He was painfully aware of the impending doom of school the next morning. And the people he would see.

"I figured that would happen sooner or later," he replied quietly.

"What should I tell them?"

"Stiles, you know them better than I do. You know who to trust. And I trust your judgment. If you want to tell them the entire truth, I don't mind. Just make sure your dad doesn't find out about us from someone else besides the two of us."

Stiles nodded. "The entire truth…" He rolled the phrase over considerately.

"Well, everything except one little detail," Derek reminded.

"The anal?" Stiles asked in a serious tone, and nodded, as if he had just said the most logical thing. Derek couldn't help but smile.

"You know what."

"Yeah, I do," he sighed, mostly because he thought of Danny and Allison's' expectant faces. "I should go home."

"I know. I wish you could stay here."

"Me too."

"Should I come over later? Jump in through the window?"

"Better not. Mondays are hard enough when I get a good night's sleep."

Derek nodded.

"So I'll see you soon then."

"Yeah. Goodnight."

With that, they both got out of the Camaro. Derek headed upstairs, but not before he landed a surprise kiss on Stiles' lips. He started his Jeep and drove off into the night.

Driving in the night, it always soothed him. Whenever he had a lot on his mind, he picked up his car keys and took off. He didn't generally have anywhere to go, not like this time. Maybe it was because he thought about the past, because he could relate to his past self's emotions. Anxiety and worry. They were always soothed at previous times, right after his drive. It felt reassuring to know that whenever he had had a problem it didn't take long after his journey around the city for it to be fixed.

He took the long way home. After he walked inside he found that his father was asleep in his bedroom, although it was barely past eleven. He felt exhausted despite his nap. Maybe it was his heavy meal, or the vigorous exercise session earlier that day. Either way, he stomped his way into his room, took off his clothes and fell asleep in Derek's underwear.

…

Monday morning came in, strolling through the door, bringing with it nothing but severe drowsiness. However, it was a fresh week, and Stiles was yearning for new, and different. Anything besides last week would satisfy him. Only one thing he would keep the same about last week, maybe two including the successful party for Scott.

The regular routine ensued. He got up, got washed, and had breakfast before he realized that he had a good ten minutes to spare. Stiles scoured the house for his father to keep him some company but found nothing. It dawned upon him that he should have looked for his father's car beforehand, which was already gone. He almost felt bad for the Sheriff when he had these early mornings that usually ended in long nights, but he reminded himself that his dad was also getting paid to work hard.

Stiles finally drove himself to school just in time for the first class. He had a fleeting greeting with Ms. Morrell. She was more of a friend than anything else at this point. Scott had saved him a seat in the classroom. At lunch, they sat next to each other again, opposite Allison, Jackson and Lydia. Danny sat nearby flicking glances their way. Life was normal again.

But normal didn't mean perfect.

Practically as soon as the last bell of the day had rung, he was faced with Danny and Allison's supposedly nonchalant enquiries about Derek while the three of them navigated their way through the grounds to the parking lot.

"So, Stiles, we had fun at your party last weekend," Danny opened. Had it not been so blatantly obvious what their ultimate goal was, Stiles would have almost given them points for starting out smoothly.

"I'm glad you enjoyed yourselves."

"It was kind of weird when that Derek guy popped up, though," Allison mused. Stiles made a noncommittal noise. Even though Derek had not made him promise to keep any detail private, he was still nervous.

"What's up with that? How do you even know the guy?" Danny went on. It was as if they had agreed to alternate between questions.

"We actually worked together at the animal rehabilitation center."

"Worked! So you don't work together anymore?" Allison asked.

"No, he doesn't work there now."

"But—"

"If you have to know," Stiles interrupted them, and stopped them both dead in their tracks in the middle of the parking lot, "he and I are dating now. We have been since a couple days ago. I know it doesn't seem like enough time to be saying that we're officially dating, but we are. I am fully aware of the age difference. Please try to keep this to yourselves, not because I'm ashamed of it, but because practically everybody in this school is a giant gossip and I don't want my dad finding out about Derek from some kid's parent."

After having said that, with surprising coolness, Stiles turned around and walked off. He was opening the door of his Jeep to find that Scott was already in the passenger seat, ready to be driven home, when he felt Allison's hand clasp his shoulder. She turned him around, and he saw that Danny was nowhere in sight.

"Stiles, don't take this the wrong way, I mean, I totally support you and everything, but…"

"But what?"

"Derek told you, right? What he is?" she whispered. Scott was oblivious.

"Yeah, he did."

"And you know that's dangerous?"

"No, Allison, I think sharp claws, dangerous fangs and an animal hunger for carotid arteries are like a breath of fresh air to my normal, safe life! Of course I know that's dangerous."

"Alright, alright. I was just worried for you, for your safety."

"I know," he admitted. He had snapped unreasonably. "You need a ride?" he offered, in an effort to make up for it.

"Thanks, I have to take Lydia home anyway," she smiled at him. "You know, we should get together for coffee sometime, just us two. We make a fun pair."

"Don't let Scott catch you saying that," Stiles chuckled.

"How about today?"

"Sure, I'll call you right after I'm done quitting my job."

"You're quitting?" Allison demanded with widened eyes.

"Yeah, there's a lot of shitty memories there, I don't feel like going back there unless I have to."

"I couldn't imagine," she groaned.

"Well, you don't really have to," Stiles said slowly, confused. "You're one of the few people who actually know what happened."

"Not really," she said. "My dad didn't tell me the whole story. He thinks that he needs to shield me from the truth, because it's only going to scare me. If not that, then at least it won't do me any good."

"To be honest, I kind of agree with him."

With that, they both went their separate ways. It was a fun ride home. Finally, there was nothing scary waiting around the corner, no immense task that Stiles needed to tackle, no more butterflies in his stomach. Probably, the next big thing in his life was graduation. And he liked it that way.


	34. Date

Quitting was… Well, not easy. Holly's center had suffered some great losses, what with Andrew found dead and Derek already fired. There were a few other employees left, the ones that covered the other shifts, the ones whose faces Stiles had only seen on Employee of the Month pictures. He didn't mind leaving them behind, they were practically strangers. However, that doesn't mean that it didn't break his heart to leave Mrs. Hodac with a severe lack of workers. He was still set on quitting, but he promised to put up flyers around the school, and do whatever else he could think of to bring anybody interested in some part-time work to Holly's door.

He got all of that over with as soon as he had dropped Scott off at his place. The sooner the better, he figured. Even if it meant having an empty stomach, which according to Stiles is the equivalent of a deadly illness.

Back at home, he found his father frantically spinning around in a whirlwind of sheets of paper.

"Dad, dad! What are you doing?"

"Stiles, I'm sorry I don't have time to talk," the Sheriff mumbled to himself, and continued rummaging through a pile of paperwork that threatened to break with sitting room coffee table in two, using only its weight. "I forgot some papers here…"

"I can make you some lunch, if you want," Stiles offered in a desperate attempt to get his father to stay home for a little while more, relax, have some healthy food. It was occurring to him that they had not seen each other in quite a while, considering that they lived under the same roof.

"No, I need to get these and go, I'm sorry. Between two missing kids found alive, and another found dead I don't really have a lot of time."

With that he disappeared. The tires screeched as he drove away from the house in a flurry of movement. Stiles found himself standing alone in the middle of the house.

He made himself a snack, and sat in the kitchen to eat. He played a song on his phone to keep him some company, but the sound of his chewing of crunchy lettuce leaves reverberated in his skull, demanding to be heard over the music, so he turned it off. Before long, he washed his plate and headed up to his room. He turned on his computer and pulled out of his bag a book; ready to complete the only task he had for homework like the good student that he was when his phone beeped.

It was a text from an unsaved number, asking if he was home. Before disclosing anything, Stiles asked for the person's name. His father had never let him forget the dangers of talking to strangers when he was a young boy. The horror stories the Sheriff relayed from the police station were etched into his memory to this day.

The unknown person turned out to be Peter, repeating his question. Stiles answered truthfully. Only five seconds had passed when the doorbell rang.

"Peter? What are you doing here?" Stiles asked as he invited Peter inside. He sat himself at the sofa.

"Aren't you going to offer me a drink first?"

"Uh, sure. Can I get you anything to drink?"

"No, thanks. Listen," Peter began and leaned forward. Stiles remained standing. "Derek is being a real pain right about now. He wants to take you out tonight, but he can't figure out what to do for your special day of romance, so he's at his apartment pacing up and down like a madman. I left because he was driving me crazy, and even though he asked me not to tell you about the date, here I am asking you what would you like him to do tonight, so I can give the poor guy some help like the caring uncle that I am."

Stiles' emotions went from happiness, to anger at Peter, to anxiety, only to loop back around to happiness.

"Are you serious? Tonight?" he beamed.

"No, I'm joking, isn't it a hilarious joke? Of course I'm serious!"

"Okay, uh…" Stiles moaned as he thought and he paced up and down the living room.

"Oh come on, you're just as bad as he is! I got out of there to escape the incessant pacing!"

"Sorry," Stiles said quietly and sat down, deep in thought. "Why don't you tell him: something simple. Like, um, dinner at that café in the park?"

Peter squinted at Stiles. "That's not bad. Thanks." With that he got up and dramatically exited the house, slamming the door behind him. Stiles ran after him, but Peter was out of sight before he even reopened the door.

…

Two hours later, after Stiles was done completing any kind of task, errand and chore he could think of, he realized he was so intent on keeping himself busy to stop himself from panicking. Panicking about what to do, what to say, how to dress. He had been around Derek before, and their silences hadn't been awkward for the most part, but a date was a different thing. He sat at the kitchen table looking at nothing, playing with his fingers when he had come to this conclusion. He was usually a cool guy, or at least kept his cool, and he was quick with words. He could talk himself out of anything.

Romance, that was a new thing.

Eventually he admitted to himself that he was lost. If there were ever an appropriate time to ask for a favor, now it would be that time.

Stiles picked up his phone.

"Allison? How about that coffee?"

…

Allison and Stiles met at a small, hipster-looking coffee shop in the middle of the city, where they assumed that they wouldn't meet anybody from their school. They were mostly right.

"Who is that in the corner? Do I know her? Does she know me?" Stiles demanded in a harsh whisper. Allison casually looked over at the girl.

"No offence, but probably no."

Stiles gave her a look.

"So what's the big favor you wanted to ask me?" she began, not really caring if anybody would overhear.

"Okay, so I know that you and Scott have been going out for a while now—"

"Stiles, if this is your way of asking for a threeso—"

"No! Derek is going to ask me out!" he hissed.

Allison looked half-surprised, half-amused. "So?"

"So what the hell am I supposed to do on a date? I'm not graceful, okay? I'm not charming, and I'm definitely not ready for this! Half the times I've been alone with Derek we were practically forced together, and the other half we've been sleeping together, both literally and figuratively."

"Oh, score."

"I know right?"

"Stiles, stop worrying. You've only been together since Saturday, and I've barely seen you two interact, but I know that you are perfect for each other. You're crazy and high-maintenance and clumsy, and he looks like…the exact opposite."

Stiles pondered it for a little while.

"You're right, he's a very sane person."

"See?"

"And he's pretty laid-back sometimes, and his apartment is freakishly organized."

They sat in silence for a little bit and Stiles nibbled at his nails.

"I just have to say, you're acting like you're getting married or something, you need to calm down as soon as possible."

"Sorry," he said and patted his mouth clean.

"You guys fit together. You're going to be in a relationship for a long time, you two. I can tell."

Suddenly, Stiles felt a familiar tightness around his lungs and started biting at his nails yet again.

"Oh, come on, I thought you were ready!"

"I thought so too!" Stiles whined. "But then you went on saying that crap about relationships and I got nervous again!"

"You have got to be kidding me," Allison exclaimed. "You're afraid of commitment? Are you serious with this? Even Scott has the capacity to understand the simplicity of it."

"Hey, that's my best friend you're talking about! Actually, that's your boyfriend you're talking about!"

"I know, I should stop saying things like that out loud."

"Maybe."

…

It didn't take much longer for Stiles to realize how lucky he was to have found Derek, and that there would be no other guy out there capable of making Stiles consider a commitment like this. When he had been officially asked out over the phone, with Allison listening intently, he decided it was time to go home and get dressed.

He took one of the coldest showers of his life. If it could help calm his racing heart, he would do it. Stiles even considered taking a shot of whisky before leaving the house, but Derek arrived to pick him up exactly on time. Maybe even five minutes earlier.

"Hey," Stiles breathed as he sat down in Derek's Camaro. He considered the possibility of that barely-a-syllable word sounding worried.

"Hi, Stiles," Derek smiled warmly. Any anxiety he might have had himself about tonight was certainly gone. Stiles realized that his heart was beating like nuts, but Derek didn't comment on it. Probably to salvage the moment, or maybe to keep any embarrassment away from the evening.

"So, where are we going?" began Stiles.

"That's a surprise," Derek declared, and the irony pained Stiles. "But it's a good twenty minute's drive, so get comfortable."

The park was barely ten minutes away.

"Twenty minutes? Where the hell are you taking me?"

"Did I not just say that it's a surprise?"

Stiles bit his tongue back.

Naturally, what with both of them being so witty and all, the conversation was non-stop. They had plenty to talk about, especially Stiles' resignation from the job.

"Well, now that I'm not there any more for you to stare at, it's pretty expected for you to quit," commented Derek, with his modesty and all.

Finally, they arrived at their destination. Stiles lost his breath.

Before him the sandy beach was sprawled like a silky fabric. Its golden hues glinted under the moonlight with which the full moon gladly bathed them. As if trying to purposefully contradict this serenity, the ocean crashed heavily upon the coast, churning up a white foam with each strike.

"We're at the beach," Stiles declared in disbelief. He wondered if Derek had come up with the idea all on his own. He wondered if Peter had even given the message about the date at the park to Derek. He wondered if Derek had made Peter approach Stiles, so that he would be surprised.

"Yeah, there's a beach house I'm renting over there."

"You're renting that?" Stiles exclaimed and pointed. The house was magnificent. "How loaded are you?"

They both laughed at that and moved towards the house. They walked through the gate but went straight to the back yard, where Derek had already set up a beautiful candlelit dinner for two, under a myriad of Christmas lights, leaping from one treetop to another. The whole place was illuminated like a fairytale. Stiles had never imagined himself falling for this stuff, but he was falling hard.

They sat and talked forever. Courses ran long; the two of them helped each other finish meals. The dishes were tantalizing. Derek had skillfully cooked them. "You're good with your hands," Stiles winked at one point. Somewhere far off there was music playing. It wasn't planned, but if fit in perfectly. It had only been ten minutes when Stiles felt every single one of his worries merrily skip out of his head.

Derek's mere presence was enough. It was like a medicine, or a drug that intoxicated his body, ran through his veins and soothed his mind. When they held hands, there were sparks flying all over the place.

"You're unbelievable, you know that?" Derek finally said with a warm smile and a fire behind his eyes. "Excuse me if I sound too co-dependent for your two-and-a-half-day-long relationship, but I just… I can't believe that I found someone like you."

At that moment, Stiles was back in the bed. They were both in Derek's apartment, and Stiles was in his arms. Lying there, he was king. And that was how he felt now: like someone ready to take on the world. Derek gave him confidence and self-esteem. They made each other a better person. They truly, and perfectly completed each other.

"You know, I am so glad the guidance counselor made me take that job at the animal rehabilitation center. And I'd do it all over again, just to end up here with you."


End file.
